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Printed by MAtUfus k Sou k sofd by thtm ajid all fJu 
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Gffb 
MR. HUTCHESON. 
22 N '05 



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DEDICATION. >^'^ 



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TO THE 



NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 



OF THE 



CALEDONIAN HUNT. 



MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, 

A SCOTTISH BARD, proud of the name, 
and *whose highest ambition is to sing in his 
Country's service, "where shall he so properly look 
for Patronage as to the illustrious Names of his 
native Land ; those ivho bear the Honours and 
inherit the Virtues of their Ancestors ? The 
Poetic Ge7iius of my Country found me^ as the 
Prophetic Bard Elijah did Elisha — at the Plough; 
and threw her inspiring Mantle over me. She bade 
me sing the Loves, the Joys, the rural Sceiies and 
rural Pleasures of my 7iative Soil, in my native 
Tongue : I tuned my mid, artless Notes, as she 
inspired. — She whispered me to come to this ancient 
a 



IV 



Metropolis of Caledoniuy and lay my Songs ujider 
your honoured Protection : I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodnessy I do 
not approach youy my Lords and Gentlemeiiy in 
the usual Style of Dedication^ to thank you for 
past favours ; that path is so hackneyed by pro^ 
stituted Learnings that honest Rusticity is ashamed 
of it — Nor do I present this Address *with the 
venal soul of a servile Author y looking for a con^ 
tinuation of those favours : I was bred to the 
Ploughy and am Independent. I come to claim 
the common Scottish Name withyouy my illustrious 
Countrymen ; and to tell the world that I glory 
in the Title. — I come to congratulate my Country y 
that the blood of her ancient Heroes still runs 
uncontaminated. ; and thaty from your Couragey 
KnowledgCy and Public Sjnrit she may expect 
Protectiony Wealthy and Liberty. — In the last 
placcy I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the 
Great Fou7itain of Honour y the Monarch of the 
XJniverscy for your welfare and happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the EchoeSy in the 
ancient and favourite amusement of your ForC" 
fatherSy may Pleasure ever be of your party ; and 
may social Joy await your 7'eturn ! WJien harassed 
in courts or camps y with thejustlings of bad meyi 
and bad measuresy may the honest consciousness of 
injured Worth attend your return to your native 
Seats; and may Domestic HappinesSy with a 
gmiling welcomcy meet you at your gates ! may 



Corruption sJirink at your kindling indignant 
glance; and may Tyranny in the Ruler ^ artd 
Licentiousness in the Peoplcy equally Jind you an 
inexcrrablefoeJ 

I have the honour to he^ mth the sincei^est 
gratitude and highest respect j 

My Lords and Gentlemen^ 

Your most devoted humble Servant^ 

ROBERT BURNS. 



Edinburgh^ 
April J^y 1787* 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

THE Twa Dogs, a Tale ... 1 

Scotch Drink - . - 10 

The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer - 15 

Death and Doctor Hornbook - - 22 

The Holy Fair - . - 29 

The Briggs of Ayr ... 39 

An Address to the Deil - - - 4<8 

A Dream - - - - 53 

The Inventory v - - - - 59 

Despondency, an Ode - - 62 

The Vision - - - - 65 
The Death and dying Words of Poor Maille, the 

Author's only Pet Yowe - - 76 

Poor Mailie's Elegy - - - 79 

The Ordination • - - SI 

ToJ. S*** . - . - 87 
Address to the unco Guid and rigidly Righteous 94 

To a Mouse, on turning it up with a Plough 98 

To Miss L , with a New Year's Gift 100 

Tam Samson's Elegy - - - 101 

Halloween - - - - 107 
The Auld Farmer's New Year's Morning Salu- 

tation to his Auld Mare Maggy - 120 

A Winter Night - - - 124? 

Epistle to Davie, a^ Brother Poet - - 128 

To a Haggis - - - 1®* 



Tage 
On seeing a wounded Hare limp by, which a 

fellow had shot at - - 136 

The Cotter's Saturday Night -, - 137 

The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate 

Issue of a Friend's Amour - 145 

Man was made to mourn - - 149 

Winter - - - - 153 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death - 155 

Stanzas on the same Occasion - - 157 

Verses, left by the Author in the Room of a 

Friend's House where he had slept 159 
A Prayer under the Pressure of violent Anguish 161 

Epistle to a young Friend - - 162 

A Dedication to G. H. Esq. - - 166 

To Ruin - - - - 171 

To a Mountain Daisy - - - 17S 

On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies 176 

The First Psalm - - - 179 

First Six Verses of the 90th Psalm - 180 

Address to Edinburgh - - 182 

The Jolly Beggars, or Tatterdemallians 185 

To a Louse - - - 200 

The Calf .... 202 

Extempore Verses on Dining with Lord Daer 204 

Address to the Tooth- Ach - - 208 

Lines extempore, in Answer to a Card from a 

Friend - - . . 26. 

The Kirk's Alarm - . - . 209 

The Twa Herds, or Holy Toolzie - 213 

Epistle to J. Lapraik . - - 217 

To the Same .... - 222 

To W. S^****N Ochiltree - - 226 

Letter to John Goudie - - - 233 

Answer to a Trimming Letter from a Tailor 235 

The Whistle - - - - . 238 

Address to the Shade af Thompson - 243 



• •• 

VMl 



Page 
Lines Written under the Picture of Miss Burns 244 

Tarn o* Shanter - - - - 245 
On the late Captain Grose's Perigrinations 

thro' Scotland - - - 253 

Epigram on Ditto - - - - , 256 
Verses Written on a Window of the Inn at 

Carron - - - - 255 

Second Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet 257 

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots - 259 
Lines Written on a Window in the King's 

Arms Tavern, Dumfries - 261 

To Robert Graham of Fintry, Esq. - 262 

Lament for James Earl of Glencairn - 265 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water - 268 

On scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch Turit 272 
Lines Written with a Pencil, standing by the 

Fall of Fyres, near Lochness - 274 
Epigram on Elphinstone's translation of 

Martial's Epigrams - - tb. 

A Fragment, — « When Guilford good, &c/ 275 
Epigram on the Author's Treatment at the Inn 

oflnverary .. « - • 278 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child - ^ 279 

Epitaph on John Dove - - 280 

John Barleycorn, a Ballad - - 281 

Epitaph on a Wag in Mauchline - 284 

Holy Willie's Prayer - - - 285 

Epitaph on Holy Willie - - 289 

Address to an illegitimate Child - - 290 

Epitaph on the Tombstone of R. Ferguson 29 1 

Lines Written in Friars Carse Hermitage 292 

Epitaph on Wee Johnnie - - 294 

Epistle to John Rankin - - - 295 

Lines to Ditto - ^ . 298 

Elegy on the Year 1788 - - 299 

Lines Extempore - - » 300 



IX 

Page 
Prologue, spoken by Mr Woods on his Benefit 

Night . - - 301 

Scots Prologue for Mr Sutherland's Benefit 

Night . - . 303 

The Guidwife of Wauchope-House to Robert 

Burns - - - 305 

The Answer . - - 307 

Ode to the Memory of Mrs of 310 

Lines written on a Window of the Inn at 

Moffat - - - 311 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson - 312 
Epitaph on ditto - - - 315 

DeUa, anOde - - - 317 

Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford, Bart. 318 

Letter to J— s T 1 Gl— nc— r - 319 

Lines written in a Lady's Pocket Book - 32 1 
Lines written on Windows in the Globe Tavern, 

Dumfries - - . 322 

Lines on reading in a Newspaper the Death of 

J. Mc L , Esq. - - 323 

To Miss C*^******, a young Lady - 324? 

Lines written in the Parlour of the Inn at Ken- 
mure in Taymouth - - 325 
Lines extempore, at a Meeting of the Dum- 
friesshire Volunteers - - 326 
The Henpeck'd Husband - - 327 
Epitaph on a Henpecked Country Squire ih. 
Epigram on said Occasion - - 328 
Another - - - - ih, 
Graces before and after Meat - - 329 
Epitaph on a celebrated Ruling Elder - 330 

on a Noisy Polemic - - ib. 

on D. C. - - - ih. 

on J — n B — ^y, Writer, Diunfries ih. 

for R. A. Esq. - - 331 

• for G. H. Esq. - - ih. 



Page 
Epitaph on a Person nicknamed the Marquis 331 

on Walter S - - ih. 

— — on a Friend - - - - 332 

for the Author's Father - ih. 

Burns' Epitaph, by himself - - 333 

Lines to Mr S**^e - - - 334 

Address to Mr Mitchell, Collector of Excise 335 

to Mr William Tytler - 337 

On the Battle of Sheriff Muir « 339 

To a Gentleman who had sent the Author a 

Newspaper - - 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry 
New Year's Day — A Sketch 
Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice 
Inscription for an Altar to Independence 

On Mrs -'s Birth-Day 

Poem on Life - - « 

On Sensibility — ^To Mrs Dunlop 

To Miss Jessy L — /Dumfries 

To Robert Graham of Fintry, Esq. on receiving 

a Favour - - - 355 

A Vision - - ' - - 356 

Address to a Lady *• - - 358 

To a Thrush singing in a Morning Walk 359 

On the Death of Mr Riddle - - 360 

Lines written in a Wrapper inclosing a Letter 

to Captain Grose - - - 361 

Lines extempore on the late Mr Smellie 363 

Lines sent to a Gentleman whom he had of- 
fended . . - V ^^^ 
Lines extempore - - - - ih. 



XI 



SONGS. 



Pag, 

The Lea-Rig - - - - 365 

Duncan Gray - - - - 366 

It was upon a Lammas Night - - 367 

Now westling winds and slaughtering guns 365 

My Nannie O - - - - 370 

Again rejoicing nature sees - - 371 

Green grow the Rashes - - - 373 

The gloomy Night is gathering fast - 374 

From thee, Eliza, I must go - - 375 

The Farewell to the Brethren of St James' 

Lodge, Tarbolton - - 376 

The Big-belly'd Bottle - - 377 

A Man's a Man for a' that - - 379 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the Town - 380 

The Lass that made the bed to me - 381 

Of a' the airts the "Wind can blaw - 383 

Here awa, there awa - - 384* 

On a Bank of Flowers - - ib. 

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen - - 386 

The Banks of the Devon - - 2^. 

The Chevalier's lament after the Battle of 

CuUoden - . . 357 

Miss Peggy K - . . 38S 

Last May a braw Wooer - - 389 

Yestreen I had a Pint o' Wine - 391 

The Five Carlins — an Election Ballad - 3y2 

Tam Gien - - . _ 395 

The Soldier's Return - - 397 

O, wat ye wha's in yon Town - 399 

Caledonia - - - - 401 

Pollv Stewart - - - - 402 

b 



xir 

Page 

Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut - - 403 

My Mary, dear departed shade - 404 

Sic a Wife as Willie had - - 405 

The Braes o' Ballochmyle - - 406 

The Banks o' Doon - • . 407 

The Gallant Weaver - - . /§, 

O for ane an' twenty Tarn - - 408 

Co'antry Lassie - - - 409> 

Anna - - - - 410 

For the Sake o' Somebody - - 411 

Bess and her Spinning Wheel - - 412 
What can a young Lassie do wi' an auld Man 413 

Then Guidwife count the Lawin - 414 

My Tocher's th^ Jewel - - ih. 

John Anderson my jo - - - 415 

O5 were I on Parnassus' Hill - - 417 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day - - 418 

A Rose Bud by my early walk - - 420 

The Birks of Aberfeldy - - 421 

Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher - - 422 

Let me in this ae Night - - 423 

The Answer - - - 424 

Contented v/i' Little - - 425 

Auld Lang Syne - - - ih. 

M^g o' the Mill . ^ - 426 

ThePosie - - - - 427 

She Loves me Best of a' - - - 4^29 

Jessie - - - - - 430 

Down the Burn Davie - - 431 

Auld Rob Morris - - - 432 

Gala Water - . . 433 

The Rosy Brier ... ib. 

Address to the Wood Lark - - 434 

Canst thou Leave me - - - 435 

She's Fair and Pause - - - 436 

The Bonny Wee Thing . - - ih.^ 

Gloomy December ^ - - - - 431 



Page 
Lord Gregory - - - - - ' 4^8 

Logan Braes - - — - - 439 

Had I a Cave - - - - - 440 

Highland Mary - . - - - ib. 

Wilt thou be my Dearie - - - 442 

How Lang and Dreary - - - ib. 

CcMne let me take, &c. - - - 443 

My Chloris - - - - - 444 

The Day Returns - - - - 445 

Raving Winds - - - - ib, 

Afton Water ----- 446 

Bonny Bell ----- 447 

Fair Jenny ----- 448 

Blythe was She - - - - 449 

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes - - 450 

Adown Winding Nith - - - 451 

Craigie Burn Wood - - - - 452 

This is no my ain Lassie - - - 453 

Farewell thou Stream - - - - 454 

Bonny Lesley ----- 455 

Poortith Cauld ----- 456 

Open the Door to Me, oh - - 457 

By Allan Stream, &c. . - - 458 

Thou hast left Me ever - - - 459 

Banks of Cree ----- z6. 

On the Seas and Far Away - - 460 

Bonny Jean ----- 452 

The Banks of Nith - - - - 463 

My Spouse Nancy - - - - 464 

Whistle and FlI come to you - - 465 

Dainty Davie - - - . - 45^ 

Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks - 467 

'Twas na her bonny blue E'e - - 468 

My Nanie's awa' - - - . 469 

Here's a Health - - - - - - 470 

O May, thy Morn - - - . 471 

Lass o' Ballochmyle • • • • ib. 



XIV 

Evan Banks - - - 
Ae Fond Kiss 
Now Bank and Brae 
Out over the Forth 
Lines on a Ploughman 
rU ay ca' in by yon Town 
Whistle o'er the Lave o't . - 
The Dumfries Volunteers 
Scots wha hae, &c. 
Farewell, thou fair Day 



Page 

474 

475 

ib. 

476 

ib. 

477 

ib. 

479 

480 




SKETCH 



LIFE AND CHARACTER 



OF 



BURNS. 



s.>s5^^^=»- 



C< r I tO the feeling and the susceptible, there is 
JL something wonderfully pleasing, in the 
contemplation of genius of that super-eminent reach 
of mind by which some men are distinguished. In 
the view of highly superior talents, as in that of 
great and stupendous natural objects, there is a^ 
sublimity which fills the soul with wonder and de-- 
light ; which expands it, as it were, beyond its " 
usual bounds ; and which, investing our nature with 
extraordinary powers, and extraordinary honours^ 
interests our curiosity, and flatters our pride/* 

These are preliminary remarks of Mr Macken- 
zie, the author of the Man of Feeling,, who first- 
introduced this superior genius of humble birth to 
the notice of the public. 

bS 



XVI 

ROBERT BURNS was born on the 29th of 
January, 1759, in a small farm which his father 
occupied about two miles distant from Ayr. His 
father, "William Burns, was the son of a farmer 
in Kincardineshire, and a man of more than or- 
dinary information and capacity. Indeed, his abili- 
ties must have been far superior to most men in his 
situation, since Robert confesses that to his father's 
observation and experience he was indebted for 
most of his little pretensions to wisdom. From 
such a son this eulpgium cannot be thought unde- 
served. "When Robert was in his sixth year, his 
father sent him to a school taught by a person of 
the name of Campbell, whose place was in a few 
months supplied by Mr Murdoch, the gentleman 
who has been so honourably mentioned by Gilbert 
Burns, the younger brother of the Poet, who was 
also sent to the same school. " With Mr Murdoch," 
says Gilbert, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, «« we learnt 
to read English tolerably well, and to write a little. 
He taught us too English Grammar. I was too 
young to profit much by his lessons in Grammar, but 
Robert made some proficiency in it, a circumstance 
of considerable weight in the unfolding of his genius 
and character ; as he soon became remarkable for 
the fluency and correctness of his expression, and 
read the few books that came in his way with much 
pleasure and improvement, for even then he was 
a reader when he could get a book." From this ac- 
count it appears that Robert was not only diligent, 
but that his diligence was crowned with success. A 
taste for reading, and a thirst for general knowledge 



XVll 

began about this time to make their appearance. 
The extent of his hbrary was indeed small, and his 
opportunities for enlarging it few. Before his 
seventeenth year, the only books he had read were 
Salmon's and Guthrie's Geographical Grammars — 
the lives of Hannibal and Wallace — the Spectator, 
Pope's Works, some Plays of Shakespeare's, lull 
. and Dickson on Agriculture — Tooke's Pantheon^ 
Lock's Essay, Stackhouse's History of the Bible, 
Justice's British Gardeners' Directory, Boyle's Lec- 
tures — Allan Ramsay's Works, Taylor's Scripture 
Doctrine of Original Sin — A Select Collection of 
English Songs, and Harvey's Meditations. 

This formed the whole of his collection mentioned 
in a letter to Dr Moore, who took an early interest 
in the fate of our Poet. Besides these, Gilbert 
notices Derham's Physico and Astro-Theology, 
Ray's Wisdom of God in the Creation — the Ready 
Reckoner and the Complete Letter Writer, two 
volumes of Pamela, two of Count Fathom, and two 
of Peregrine Pickle, with the English Collection — 
the Edinburgh Magazine for 1772, and a volume 
of English History, the author of which he does 
not recollect. It is pleasant to trace a man of genius 
in his early reading, to observe the source of his 
ideas, the spring of his intellectual operations, and 
the mould as it were in which his future feelings 
and modes of thinking were cast. 

In this case, however, such an attempt, it must 
be confessed, would be vain. His wild logical talent 
might indeed be traced to Locke's Essays, and the 



xvm 

elegance of his style to the Spectator ; but this is 
all that can be said with the least appearance of 
truth. There is no Poet on whom he could have 
formed his style, except Dryden, and Dryden is not 
mentioned. 

Before he quitted Mr Murdoch b« began to learn 
French, in which he made such proficiency, that 
in a short time, with self-application, he could un- 
derstand any prose writer in the language. He 
does not appear to have availed himself much of 
this accomplishment in after life, nor to have ren- 
dered himself completely master of it — the polished 
literature of France was of a nature too refined to 
engage the masculine, the vigorous mind of Burns. 
His knowledge of French v/as productive of one ad- 
vantage, it introduced him to the acquaintance of 
several families in Ayr, which enlarged his know- 
ledge of life, and made him more able, aftei-w^ards^ 
to mix with elegant society. Facility in acquiring 
one language naturally incites us to acquire others. 
Burns began to study Latin, but whether from 
want of diligence or want of time, or that he did 
pot chuse again to burden his memory with a new 
set of elementary rules, he soon gave up the design. 
In all his literary attempts in early life he was 
assisted by Mr Murdoch, who took a warm interest 
in his improvement, and who, by all accounts, ap- 
pears to have united abilities and inform.ation, with 
a desire to communicate them to others. But the 
most prudent are not always proof against the tem- 
porary sallies of passion, and Mr Murdoch, in con- 



XlX 



sequence of some expressions directed against Dr 
Dalrymple, found it necessary to leave Ayr, not- 
withstanding his acknowledged benevolence, and 

talents as a public teacher. About this time 

Burns' father removed from Mount Oliphant, his 
farm near Ayr, to that of Lochlea, in the parish of 
Tarbolton. While at Mount Oliphant, the family 
suffered much from the poverty of the soil : and 
by unexampled diligence and rigid oeconomy alone, 
-were preserved from absolute indigence. In this 
situation it cannot be expected that the mind of 
Burns would receive much additional improvement ; 
the real ills of life are not to be compensated by the 
dreams of imagination. The difBcuhies he en- 
countered at Lochlea were not of a kind so distressing 
as those he had suffered at Mount Oliphant ; but 
as he had some designs of settling in life, and as 
there was no likelihood of his being soon able to 
stock a farm, he quitted farming altogether, and 
commenced flax-dresser in Irvine, as the only pro- 
bable means of bettering his situation. The trade 
of flax-dressing appears not to have been congenial 
to his mind ; for an accident which deprived him 
of the means of pursuing it longer, he relates with 
the greatest indifterence. " My twenty-third year 
(says he in his letter to Dr Moore) was to me an 
important ?era. Partly through whim, and partly 
that I wished to set about doing something in life, 
I joined a flax-dresser in a neighbouring town, to 
learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair. My 
***, and to finish the whole, as we were giving a 
welcoming carousal to the new year, the shop took 



XX 



fire and burnt to ashes, and I was left, like a true 
Poet, not worth a sixpence." 

He now, In conjunction with his brother, took 
the Farm of Mossgiel, which he entered with a full 
resolution to abstain from all irregularities. But 
resolutions formed in adversity, generally hold only 
^s long as there is no temptation to break through 
them, and in consequence of bad crops for two 
years successively, he lost courage, and returned to 
his old habits. These habits he had contracted 
during his residence at Irvine, and they were 
strengthened by an otker'wise noble young fellow, 
who had been as unfortunate in the world as him- 
self : and where friendship exists, there cannot be 
a stronger cement than the buffetings of fortune. 
By associating with this young man, he was taught 
to look with less horror on the illicit commerce of 
the sexes : and the fruits of a connection he had 
formed with Jean Armour (afterwards Mrs Burns) 
were now so apparent, that he was obliged to take 
immediate steps to prevent the shame and disgrace 
which would inevitably ensue. He proposed to 
her parents either to make confession of an irregular 
marriage, and then to embark for Jamaica, and 
there endeavour to provide the future means for 
maintaining his wife ; or, this expedient failing, to 
remain at home, and by his manual labours, to 
preserve her from want, till circumstances might 
enable him to maintain a family in a more suitable 
manner •, neither of these offers, liberal and dis- 
interested as they were, pleased her parents 5 his 



XXI 



success, and even in case of success, his return from 
Jamaica were so precarious, and his present means 
so slender, that they judged it more proper that the 
marriage-papers should be cancelled. Miss Armour 
yielded, though reluctantly, to her parents entrea- 
ties, and Burns was obliged to acquiesce in a sen- 
tence which he knew to be unjust, but which he 
had not power to control. Still, however, he was 
determined to try his fortune in Jamaica, and en- 
gaged with Dr Douglas to act in the capacity of an 
assisi*?nt overseer on his estate there. 

In the interim, urged by the solicitations of Mr 
Gavin Hamilton (the Gentleman to whom they 
were dedicated) and some other friends, he res'olv- 
ed to print his Poems at Kilmarnock by subscription. 
The event answered his highest expectations : what 
these expectations were, may be learnt from the 
letter to Dr Moore, already quoted. " To know 
« myself (says he) had been all along my constant 
«« study. I weighed myself alone ; I balanced my- 
<^ self with others •, I watched every means of infor- 
<^ mation, to see how much ground I occupied as a 
" man and as a Poet ; I studied assiduously nature's 
" design in my information j where the lights and 
<« shades in my character were intended. I was 
*^ pretty confident my Poems would meet with some 
« applause ; but at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic 
«' would deafen the voice of censure ; and the novel- 
<« ty of West Indian scenes make me forget neglect." 

^The profits of this Edition amounted nearly to 

twenty pounds. The success of his Poems, united 



XXll 

to the intreaties of his friends, one of whom had 
received a letter from Dr Blacklock, highly favour- 
able to the poetic character of Burns, made him 
abandon all designs of leaving his country. The 
Doctor advised the publication of a second Edition 
at Edinburgh, and thither he went, in hopes of 
acquiring, by the exertions of his genius, that inde- 
pendence in life, which he so much wished, but 
which it was his fate never to enjoy. 

Burns was welcomed to Edinburgh, by the at- 
tention of those who were principally distinguished 
by rank and fortune, or were eminent in the circle 
of literature. The expectations his previous fame 
had excited, were surpassed. To his powers of 
poetry was found added another talent, yet more 
interesting to the society to which he was introduced, 
and which multiply infinitely the dangers that 
encircle caressed genius. This was his " sorcery of 
«« conversation,^^ A daring and vivid imagination, an 
impetuous, generous sensibility^ and a very superior 
power of close and decisive reasoning, combined 
with an unbounded command of energetic and bril-" 
liant expression, gave a resistless enchantment to 
the society of Burns. The literary circle of Edin- 
burgh was, at that time, chiefly composed of men, 
who united great talents, and high cultivation of 
mind, with considerable excesses In their convivial 
pleasures. These eagerly courted the society of a 
man, who^ could so much heighten the charms 
of their social festivity, and he was forced into 
scenes of dissipation till then unknown to him. 



XXIU 

He was introduced by the Earl of Glencairn, to the 
festivals of the Caledonian Hunt ; and to the Gen- 
tlemen who composed it, he dedicated the Edition 
of his Poems, which was now published at Edin- 
burgh. 

The profits arising from the sale, enabled him to 
pursue a project he had for some time resolved on, 
of a journey to the more beautiful scenes of his na- 
tive country. He passed the summer of 1787 
chiefly in the southern parts of Scotland. He 
visited his family in Ayrshire, and completed his 
tour by Inverary and Stirling. In September he 
again quitted Edinburgh for the wilder scenery of 
the Highlands. In these excursions he was not 
less distinguished than during his residence in Edin- 
burgh •, he met, in particular, with a very hospi- 
table reception at Athole House, which produced 
the ^^ Address of Bruar Water." 

He cleared from the publication of his Poems 
about 5001, 200Z. of which was immediately ad- 
vanced to his brother Gilbert ; to whom the dif- 
ficulties he had met with in his farm of Mossgiel, 
rendered this assistance very necessary. The re- 
mainder he devoted to his plan of forming a do- 
mestic establishment. He married Jean Armour, 
to whom the narrowness of his circumstances alone 
had, till then, prevented him from doing justice ; 
and resolved to realize with all possible speed the 
agricultural projects he had long entertained. 



XXlV 

In the year 178Y, Mr Miller, of Dalswinton, 
struck with some Poems that had been shewn him 
of Burns', offered him the choice of a farm on his 
estate, at his own terms. This offer Burns now 
accepted. He took with him two friends to value 
the land, and fixed on the farm of Ellisland, about 
six miles above Dumfries, on the banks of the 
Nith. 

Burns, in the midst of those tumultuous and 
vivid pleasures, which the social dissipation of Edin- 
burgh had poured upon him in so full a tide, had 
always felt severely, that he was resigning for them 
enjoyments of a purer and higher nature, and more 
suitable to the feelings of a Poet's soul. In the 
moments of reflection he formed resolutions of re- 
sistance : but when pleasures, to which he was ex- 
quisitely sensible, were leagued with his own gene- ' 
rous social affections against his reason, the contest 
was too unequal. Of this he was himself con- 
scious, and began to look forward with hope to some 
change in his situation of life, where circumstances, 
instead of conspiring against him, might aid him 
to conquer inclinations already very powerful. He 
had associated with the occupations of the country, 
the idea of an undisturbed mind, and of peaceful 
domestic enjoyment. The care of a family, whose 
existence depended on his exertions, and attention 
to an employment, interesting to him in itself, and 
doubly so from the importance now attached to 
it, might naturally be expected to supply in his 
thoughts and feelings, the place of those pleasures 



XXV- 

he was about to leave. The temptations to th^m 
would besides no longer surround him : the noise 
of revelry would not break in upon the tranquillity 
of his lowly roof. — —And would the soul of a 
Poet hope nothing from the power of those feelings 
that must be awakened by the scenes amid which 
he was to wander ? He trusted, perhaps, that, 
when he returned to Nature, she would reassume 
her rights over his heart; that she would ^OieaV with 
her ^^sqft vrfliiences^^ ^^her wandering and distempered 
«* childy Hers was the magic wand, whose touch 
was to dissolve the talisman that had entranced 
him. He set off for Eliisland, in the full confi- 
dence that the moment of his entering on his agri- 
cultural life, would be that of abjuring the pleasures 
of dissipation. 

<« I have dallied long with life ; 'tis time to be in 
*'< earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care 
« for Y and some other bosom-ties perhaps equally 
^< tender. Where the individual only suffers by 
« the consequences of his own thoughtlessness, in- 
« dolence, or folly, he may be excusable ; nay, 
<^ shining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues 
<< may half sanctify a heedless character ; but where 
»« God and nature have entrusted the welfare of 
<<^ others to his care ; where the trust is sacred and. 
<^ the ties are dear, that man must be far gone in 
«' selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom. 
^< these connections will not rouse to exertion."* 

• Extract from a letter to Mr* Dunlop, March, 1 787. 



XXVI 



These are the feelings which must necessarily 
have arisen in his mind, whenever he reflected on 
his situation. His resolutions at the actual time of 
his entering on his farm, and his confidence in 
their stability, appear in this extract from his com- 
mon-place book. 

Ellislandy Sunday y 14//i Juney 1788, 

" This IS now the third day that I have been in 
this country. Farewell now to those giddy fol- 
lies, those varnished vices, which, tho' half-sancti- 
fied by the bewitching levity of wit and humour, 
are at best but thriftless idling with the precious cur- 
rent of existence ; nay, often poisoning the whole> 
that, like the plains of Jericho, the water is naught, 
and the ground barren, and nothing short of a su- 
pernaturally-gifted Elisha, can ever after heal the 

evils. Come then ! let me act up to my fa^-. 

vourite motto, that glorious passage. in Young; 

-" On reason build resolve, 



That column of true Majesty in Map !" 

Had his family, as Dr Currie observes, been 
with him during the first part of his residence at 
Ellisland, it is probable their presence would have 
given strength to his resolutions. But their arrival 
was delayed, and he took possession of his faroi 
alone. 

The steadiness and regularity of his attention to 
his farm, were interrupted by several visits to his 
family in Ayrshire -, and the loneliness of a home 



XXVll 

from which domestic society was absent, made him 
meet more willingly the eagerness with which the 
neighbouring Gentlemen of the country strove to - 
distinguish him. This distinction led him back to 
those habits, which the dictates of his reason, and 
the impulses of his heart made him so ardently de- 
sire to avoid. These were inconsistent with the 
feelings which were necessary for the enjoyment 
of his present situation, and he felt an aversion 
and disgust towards it gradually growing upon 
him. 

It seems he had for some years regarded the 
excise as the employment in which he was to find 
that independence he so long and so earnestly de- 
sired. This idea he never ceased to entertain ; 
and he had lately conceived a project of a union. 
between the two employments of the excise-office, 
and the farm. Witli this view he had applied to 
Mr Graham, of Fintry, a gentleman with whom he 
became acquainted at the Duke of Athole's : and by 
his interest he obtained the office of exciseman to 
the district in which his farm was situated •, an ap- 
pointment of the value of about 501, per annum. 
This was a new source of distraction from his 
agricultural employments ; and accordingly from 
this period his attention to them more rapidly di- 
minished : and though at times he still engaged in 
some of the labours of a farmer, it was as an amuse- 
ment, not as an occupation ; the business was aban- 
doned to servants. 

. . .:. . . ■ • C:3. . .. ,.. 



xxvm 

At the close of 1791, he received an appoint- 
ment to a more extensive district, which augment- 
ed his salary to about 70/. and he now resolved to 
give up his farm altogether. He disposed of his 
stock by pubhc auction, and removed to a small 
house in Dumfries, to devote himself to an em- 
ployment, which seemed from the first to afford 
but little hope of future happiness^ 

He resided four years at Dumfries. During this 
time he had hoped for some promotion in the 
excise •, but the eagerness in politics to which 
his warm feelings betrayed him, defeated these 
hopes. 

A Poet is, by his nature, a philanthrophist* 
Burns' generous soul embraced with ardour those 
hopes of happiness which seemed to dawn on man- 
kind in the French revolution. And even when 
th.e bright vision began to fade in the eye of those 
whose feelings were less deeply interested in human 
happiness, or whose sober judgment was less subject 
to the colourings of sensibility and fancy, he found it 
easier to supply the vanishing splendour by his own 
vivid imagination, than to resign at once expecta- 
tions, which he had cherished with such enthusi- 
astic affection. So that even when the supporters 
of the principles that le/1 to the Revolution, were 
viewed with some degree of suspicion and aversion, 
Burns still continued to express his unaltered senti- 
ments with a freedom that prudence, at least, did 
not justify. Some of the expressions of his un- 



XXIX 



guarded hours were repeated with exaggeration to 
his superiors, and he had some reason to feai' the 
loss of his situation : he defended himself in a 
spirited and eloquent letter to the Board ox Excise j 
and Mr Graham seconded his justification. He 
was not deprived of his employment y but his pro- 
motion was deferred. 

The ardent friends of liberty have been frequent-- 
ly classed among the disaffected to our own form 
of government. This suspicion is, at least, unne- 
cessary : it argues but an imperfect idea of the 
free principles of our constitution, to conceive that 
the attachment to it is inconsistent witii the love of 
freedom. That it was ill-founded in the case of 
Burns, the following expressions from his common- 
place book will. shew. ^ Whatever might be my 
sentiments of republics, ancient or modern, as to 
Britain, I ever abjured the idea. A constitution, 
which, in its original principles^ experience has^ 
proved to be every way fitted for our happiness, it 
would be insanity to reject for an untried visionary- 
theory." 

Burns' love of liberty attached him to his coun- 
try, and in 1797, when its safety seemed endanger- 
ed, he armed in the corps of the Dumfries Volun- 
teers, whose valour he animated by the martial 
strains of his lyre. 

There is a great degree of physical as well as 
mental sensibility, that frequently belongs to genius. 



XXX 

Burns, though of a strong mascular form, had 
early been subject to disorders arising from delicacy 
of constitutionj such as depression of spirits, head- 
ach, violent and irregular movements of the heart 
— ^this tendency to illness, heightened by irregu- 
larity, was perceptibly wearing away the frail thread 
of existence ; and he was himself conscious, some 
months before it gave way, that it could not long 
remain unbroken. 

In January 1795, his com.plaints began to wear 
the most alarming appearances. He had been con- 
fined from October by an accidental complaint,, 
which seemed about to leave him, when, on his 
return from supper, one very cold night, he was 
seized with a severe attack of the rheumatism. 
From this time every alarming symptom becoming 
more decisive, he lost all hopes of relief, and his 
spirits sunk under the united pressure of disease, 
and fears for his helpless family. The return of 
Spring brought no return of hope, and grown im- 
patient of advice, which gave him no relief, he 
resolved to try the effects of sea-bathing. With, 
this view he removed to Brow in Annandale, about 
ten miles to the east of Dumfries, on the shore of 
the Solway Frith. 

Bathing seemed at first to afford some relief to 
his sufferings. But the fever soon returned with 
new violence. On the 18th of July, he came back 
to Dumfries. " He was ndw no longer able to 



XXXI 

stand upright — a tremor pervaded his fame — his 
tongue was parched, and, except when roused by 
conversation, his mind sunk into delirium. On 
the second and third day the fever increased, and 
his strength diminished. On the fourth the suffer- 
ings of this great but ill-fated genius were termi- 
nated ', and a Hfe was closed in which virtue and 
passion had been at perpetual variance." 

Burns left his family in poverty ; but not in 
debt. Indifferent as he was to the aquisition of 
money, and careless of it when he possessed ic, his 
independent spirit had secured him from outrtmning 
even his slender income. 

The distresses he had feared for his family were 
averted by a subscription set on foot for their sup- 
port by his friends, which amounted to about 700/. 
This sum was very considerably augmented by the 
profits of the Edition of his Works, published at 
Liverpool, by Dr Currie. This publication pre- 
sents Burns to the public in a new point of view — 
his poetical strength had long been known — we 
noTjT admire him as a master of powerful eloquence 
in prose. Many, indeed, have not hesitated to 
assert, that his genius shines more conspicuously in 
hi^ letters, than in his poetry ; and that it is chiefly 
from these his name will derive its immortality. 
That this opinion should be very general, as v»^e 
understand it is, among his English admirers, was 
naturally to be expected. — Much of the spirit, wit, 
and descriptive beauty of his poetry, are to them 
invisible, or at b^st but " dimly seen, through thQ 



XXXll 



medium of an almost unknown language. Among 
his countrymen the point is more questionable: 
the result of the comparison will probably be the 
reverse. 

His letters are, in general, marked with charac-^ 
ters of genius, of a very peculiar kind, which are- 
not, perhaps, to be found in any other prose com- 
position, certainly in none of this species of writing. 
Many of them contain simply the thoughts and 
reasonings of a strong and accurate judgment, ex-, 
pressed with flow and energy of language: and- 
even these are coloured with the necessary anima- 
tion of his feelings* There are others in which his* 
feelings bear the principal share; and which are con- 
sequently more characteristic of Burns. His gene- 
rx)us and glowing sentiments; his keen and impetu-^* 
Qus sensibility, roused by some powerful impression' 
of the moment, give to these a fervour, a strength, 
and an impetuosity of expression, that astonish and- 
hurry us along. It is here that we must feel his 
soul. But those in which the genius of the Poet is 
peculiarly recogni^ed^ are a few in which he seemKl 
to abandon himself to his wild imagination, in whkh 
he seems to command language, thought, and image- 
ry, with the sovereignty of genius. In these there 
is a torrent of ideas and expressions, which we u3 
not find in his poetry, and of which poetry is not 
perhaps susceptible. Still this is not sufficient to 
give his letters the superiority 5 this is the only ex- 
cellence which they possess exclusively. The cha- 
racters of genius and sensibility are not confined to 
either-, and, in general, in the Poems they appear 



XXXlll 

under a much greater variety of forms, and in each 
form, perhaps, more perfect. His wit and hu- 
mour are more profusely poured through his poetic 
strains — his wit is more pointed, his imagery more 
beautiful, and his sensibility, while it loses a part of 
its impetuosity, assumes a delicacy and a grace that 
considerably heightens its charms. And ought it 
not to be so ? Is it not in the regions of poetry that a 
poet is most at home i He may write prose because 
he feels it to be necessary j but his poetry breaks 
from him In the ebullitions of enthusiasm. 

It would be difficult to trace all the nicer linea- 
ments which unite in forming the features of 
Burns' poetry ; it would be impossible to say which 
feature is most prominent : but there is a general 
character of expression in the whole that is seized 
by the first glance. It is an expression of unre- 
straint and of enthusiasm. Through all the diver- 
sities, and even contrarieties of style, in thought 
and feeling, which are spread through his poems, 
there is no appearance of a mind bending reluctantly 
to a mood which is unnatural to it. Ridicule, 
beauty, pathos, and sublimity, all seem for their 
moment equally congenial to his nature ; it is freely, 
it is from delight, that he engages in each — while 
its impression lasts, his soul is wrapt in it ; he revels 
and luxuriates in the feelings it awakens, and the 
conceptions it creates. We laugh, or glow, or 
weep, or tremble, at his pleasure. His magical 
dominion is not limited to the genii of the lamp 
or of the ring, — he waves an all-commanding wand 
to which every spirit is a slave. 



XXXiV 



Thus, in giving the character of a lately-deceased 
Poet of celebrity, so many difficulties occur, so many 
prejudices are to be encountered, that an impartial 
view cannot reasonably be expected — If his power- 
ful descriptions of nature have delighted one, they 
have lighted the fire of envy in another ; if his 
satire has been keen and sarcastic, too many subjects 
hourly present themselves for its exercise, and the 
lash seldom fails to excite hatred, implacable hatred, 
in the sufferer. His passions too, ^^ wild as the 
wave," may have led him into intemperance and 
improprieties, which his enemies exaggerate, and 
draw from oblivion into the blaze of day. On the 
other hand, his admirers, enthusiastic in whatever 
regards their favourite, consider every aspersion 
thrown on him as an insult on themselves, and 
from a wish to defend all that he said, wrote, or 
acted, are frequently as wide of the truth as the 
former, though they act from a far more amiable 
motive. 

If we cannot say that Burns' character was im- 
maculate, if we cannot say that his ^« failings always 
lean'd to virtue's side," we can affirm that he pos- 
sessed a heart glowing v/ith benevolence, an innate! 
independence of soul, and a mind fraught withi 
generosity and every manly virtue. He certainly! 
had faults, but they were not the children of de- 
liberation, they arose from an openness of temper,! 
and were prompted by the feelings of the moment. 
It is not much to the honour of human nature, t( 
observe a general tendency in man to depreciat( 
those of superior intellects, that they may be re- 



XXXV 

duced to the same scale with themselves -, and it is 
melancholy to think that men of genius afford so 
many opportunities to this levelling system. Burns 
early became the victim of habitual melancholy, 
which constantly depressed his spirits, unless when 
enlivened by the charms of social life. It is a pity 
that the refinement of society has not banished fer- 
mented liquors from the number of its enjoyments. 
It seems as if we perverted the use of those things 
which nature intends for our comfort. Not only 
the polished nations of Europe are addicted to ex- 
cess in drinking, but even the native of Seandinavia 
tortures the pittance of his fields to procure a day's 
intoxication at the sad price of indigence for a whole 
year. When Burns flew to this as a cure for low- 
ness of spirits, it would not probably have an im- 
mediate effect; yet it seems a principle in our 
constitution, that in proportion to the disgust which 
fermented liquors create at first, so is the pleasure 
which they communicate when rendered familiar 
by habit. 

It is unnecessary to add, that Bums tasted the 
cup of dissipation ; that he drank deeper as its plea- 
sures increased. But on this the candid eye will cast 
a look of pity, and turn to those qualities which are 
more honourable to him as a man, and as a poet. 
None but a misanthrope can contemplate with satis- 
faction the wreck of genius. Indeed it is probable, 
that had his views in life been fixed, and had it 
been blessed with an independent situation, his 
character would have been marked with none ot 

d 



XXXVl 

those irregularities which gradually undermined his 
constitution, and brought on an untimely death. 
He always declared, that his great misfortune was 
to live " without an aim." But dissipation in 
Burns was unattended by any of the usual conse- 
quences, it did not weaken nor debase his mind ; 
his natural powers and independent sentiments con- 
tinued in full vigour to the last. 

If we consider the grander qualities of his mind, 
we shall see that he eminently possessed those 
powers and modes of thinking which constitute the 
poet. His imagination was ardent and unconfined; 
it could sport with trifles, or hold converse with 
serial beings. The belief of supernatural agency. If 
not philosophical. Is at least poetical, and this be- 
lief was impressed on his mind when very young. 
^^ In my infant and boyish days too (letter to Dr 
Moore) I owed much to an old woman who re- 
sided In the family, remarkable for her ignorance, 
credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, 
the largest collection In the country of tales and 
songs, concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, 
witches, warlocks, spunkles, elf-candles, dead- 
lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantralps, giants, en- 
chanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. 
This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry, but had 
so strong an effect on my imagination, that, to this 
hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep 
a sharp look-out in suspicious places ; and though 
nobody can be more sceptical than I am in such 
matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy 



XXXVll 



to shake off these idle terrors." This belief has cer- 
tainly a strong tendency to promote subhmity of con- 
ception. It seems to have formed part of the poeti- 
cal creed of those who are distinguished by a vivid 
and strong imagination. Milton early in life was 
addicted to the reading of romances, more on ac- 
count of their ghostly apparatus, than the delinea- 
tions of character they contained. Tasso and Collins, 
both of them nursed in the lap of enthusiasm, 
penetrated into the depths of Gothic superstition, 
and while they sung its terrors, << thought each 
strange tale devoutly true." The power of imagi- 
nation, when restrained within proper bounds, 
and tempered by reason^ is the source of every 
thing sublime or truly excellent in poetry ; it raises 
the mind of its possessor above the sordid cares and 
enjoyments of this world. — And while it exalts him 
above the pursuits of the common herd of mankind, 
it opens to his view ideal scenes of happiness, and 
an infinity of beauties in the works of creation, 
never discerned by the common eye. — But at the 
same time that it produces these pleasurable emo- 
tions, it is the source of a thousand evils ; while it 
fondly contemplates the objects of its own creation, 
it renders the mind dissatisfied with the realities of 
life, and may force the possessor to seek refuge from 
the turmoil around him, in the temporary insensi- 
bility of intoxication. — ^That warmth of imagination 
and sublimity of conception were among the most 
prominent features in Burns's character, cannot be 

d2 



xxxvin 

better illustrated than from the passage in his hfe* : 
It was his delight to wander alone on the banks 
of the Ayr, whose stream is now immortal, and 
to listen to the song of the Blackbird at the close of 
the Summer's day. But still greater was his plea- 
sure, as he himself informs us, In walking on the 
sheltered side of a wood in a cloudy Winter day, 
^md hearing the wind rave among the trees ; and 
more elevated still his delight, to ascend some emi- 
nence during the agitations of nature, to stride 
along its summits while the lightning flashed around 
him, and amidst the howlings of the tempest to 
apostraphise the spirit of the storm. Such situa- 
tions he declares most favourable to devotion — 
^' Rapt in enthusiasm, I seem to ascend towards 
him who "walks on the wings of the windT It must 
jiave been obvious to all who contemplated the 
mind of Burns, that sensibility was one of its chief 
ingredients. It is indeed a quality without which 
there can be no real poet. — A common unimpas- 
sioned mind begins and terminates its existence, 
withaut being once fired with a spark of enthu- 
siasm ; it views nature without enjoying it. But 
the poet is linked to nature by a thousand indisso- 
luble ties. — Burns felt this. No object of beauty, 
grandeur, or sublimity, was perceived by him, with- 
out uncommon interest ^ to him the pure stream 
was music, and the green forest infused transport 
into his soul. A common observer may receive 
pleasure from the contemplation of a beautiful 

» Dr Currie's Lift of Burns. 



XXXIX 

landscape, but he cannot muse upon its beauties 
with the eye of a poet. What an exquisite picture 
does he give of that state of feelings impressed by a 
balmy Autumnal scene : " The evening sun was 
flaming over the distant western hills \ not a breath 
stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant 
spreading leaf. It was a golden ^moment for a 
poetic heart. I listened to the feathered warblers, 
pouring their harmony on every hand with a con- 
genial kindred regard, and frequently turned out of 
my path, lest I should disturb their little songs, or 
frighten them to another station. Surely, said I 
to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who, re- 
gardless of your harmonious endeavour to please 
him, can eye your elusive flights to discover your 
secret recesses, and to rob you of all the property 
nature gives you, your dearest comforts, your help- 
less nestlings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that 
shot across the way, what heart at such a time but 
must have been interested in its welfare, and wished 
it preserved from the rudely-browzing cattle, or 
the withering eastern blast ? Such was the scene.'*. 
— A scene worthy the pencil of Rousseau in his 
most romantic m.oments. Burns' sensibility, with 
regard to inanimate objects, was extended to the 
animated parts of creation. Even the lower classes 
of animated being participated in his sympathies; 
he strongly felt the cruelties inflicted on them by 
men, and deplored them in the most oxqu ;ite 
strains of indignant poetry. But man was his chief 

dS 



xl 



object of attention ; while he satyrized his foibles 
and painted with the humour of Butler, the cha* 
racters of the mean, the arrogant, and the selfish 5 
he keenly lamented the oppression which many 
were born to suffer; it grieved him to think, 
" What man had made of man :" his own mind 
was independent, and he easily saw what feelings 
arose in other minds equally independent, when 
obliged to crouch to a fellow-creature for the ne- 
cessaries of life. 

Little can be said of his sentiments on religious 
subjects, the truth is, they appear to have been 
variable. A mind of great feeling is necessarily in- 
fluenced by existing circumstances, and most fre- 
quently judges from the circumstance of the mo- 
ment. Pope, it is said, wavered long between the 
Protestant and Popish creeds of religion. Burns 
probably never took great pains to settle his faith in 
any particular system, but adhered to the religion 
of feeling. It has been falsely urged against his 
character, that he was an unbeliever in Christianity* 
This charge is fully refuted in a series of un- 
published letters. 

The follomng is an Extract from one of 
his Letters to Clarinda. 

«< I am delighted, charming Clarinda, with your 
honest enthusiasm for religion. Those of either 
s«x, but particularly the female, who are luke- 



Xll 



warm in that most important of all things — ^ O 
my soul, come not thou into their secrets !' I feel 
myself deeply interested in your good opinion, and 
will lay before you the outlines of my belief. He, 
who is our Author and Preserver, and will one day 
be our Judge, must be (not for his sake in the way 
of duty, but from the native impulse of our hearts) 
the object of our reverential awe and grateful ado- 
ration : He is Almighty and all-bounteous j we are 
weak and dependent ; hence, prayer and every 
other sort of devotion. ^ He is not willing that 
any should perish, but that all should come to 
everlasting life,' consequently, it must be in every 
one's power to embrace His offer of " everlasting 
life," otherwise he could not, in justice, condemn 
those who did not. A mind pervaded, actuated 
and governed by purity, truth, and charity, though 
it does not merit hearen, yet is an absolutely ne- 
cessary pre-requisite, without which heaven can 
neither be obtained nor enjoyed-, and, by divine 
promise, such a mind shall never fail of attaining 
< everlasting life :' hence, the impure, the deceiv- 
ing, and the uncharitable, extrude themselves from 
eternal bliss, by their unfitness for enjoying it. 
The Supreme Being has put the immediate admini- 
stration of all this, for wise and good ends known 
to himself, into the hands of Jesus Christ, a great 
Personage, whose relation to him we cannot com- 
prehend, but whose relation to us is a Guide and 
Saviour ; and who, except for our own obstinacy 
and misconduct, will bring us all, through various 
ways, and by various means, to bliss at last. 



xlii 



« These are my tenets, my lovely Friend ; and 
which I think cannot be well disputed. My creed 
is pretty nearly expressed in the last clause of Jamie 
Dean's grace, an honest weaver in Ayrshire ; 
* Lord grant that we may lead a guid life ! for a 
guid life maks a guid end, at least it helps weeL' " 

The character of Burns would naturally lead us 
to expect most of the Poet where he describes the 
beauties of nature, or speaks the language of pas- 
sion. He was *^ a lover of the mountains and the 
'woods .*" 

^« The moon, the glory of the sun, 
*« The brooks, that murmur as they run, 
« Had been his dearest joy." 

He had gazed on the forms of nature, and 
listened to the sounds of her << minstrelsy,'^ with 
wild delight ; and his glowing descriptions transfuse 
into the breasts of those who peruse the picture, 
the same spirit of enthusiasm, with which he him- 
self had contemplated the original. 

The same is the power of his impassioned poetry. 
It is chiefly inspired by love, which he speaks of as 
the ruling star of his destiny. He felt deeply, and 
his poetry is the langu?.ge of his feelings. There is, 
perhaps, none of his poems more strongly marked 
as the genuine offspring of passion than the Ad- 
dress to Mary in Heaven* 



xllii 

In the second Duan of the Vision, he describes 
himself as a worshipper of nature, in all her vary- 
ing forms of quietness and wildness, beauty and 
sublimity ; and as feeling more deeply still the in- 
fluence of that passion, which shares with nature 
every poetic heart. 

He has, however, other sources of impassioned 
poetry. Among these are the feelings that inspired 
his song of victory ; and those which prompted the 
Address of Bruce to his Army. 

^< Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled ; 
^< Scots, wham Bruce has aften led j 
^^ Welcome to your gory bed, 
" Or to glorious victory. 

«« Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
^« See the front o' battle lour; 
*« See approach proud Edward's power— 
<^ Edward ! chains and slavery ! 

" Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
*« Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
*< Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

<^ Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee I 

<« Wha for Scotland's king and law 
" Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
" Freeman stand, or free-man fa', 
" Caledonian ! on wi' me I 



xliv 

*^ By oppression's woes and pains ! 
•^ By your sons in servile chains ! 
•^ We will drain our dearest veins, 

«« But they shall be — shall be free \ 

^* Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
«^ Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
** Liberty's in every blow ! 

" Forward ! let us do, or die !'^ 

In enlarging on the character of this celebrated 
genius, no doubt many more estimable quali- 
ties would gradually unfold themselves. ^The 

sketch already given, for which we candidly ac- 
knowledge ourselves indebted to an Edition of his 
Poems lately published in Glasgow, is as copious as 
the confined limits of our plan will allow : and as 
accurate, we trust, as the existing sources of infor- 
mation will yield. — Now that he is no more, hrs 
faults, it is hoped, will soon be forgotten, and his 
virtues and talents show posterity, that in him 
Scotland lost one of the brightest of her sons of 
genius, and a manly defender of her liberties. 




BY 

EGBERT BURNS. 



THE 

TWA DOGS, 



A TALE. 

^np'WAS in that place o' Scotland's isle 

1 That bears the name o' Aidd Kiiig Coily 
Upon a bonie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, 
Forgathered ance upon a time. 

The first Fll name, they ca'd him Ccesavy 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, 
But whalpit some place Tar abroad. 
Where sailors gahg to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar : 
But tho' he was o' high degree. 
The fient a pride na pride had he ; 

A 



But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin : 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie. 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 
Wha for his friend an' comrade h?d him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd hixn. 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 
Was made lang syne, — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faithful tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face. 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his touzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl. 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. * 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snufF'd an' snowkit, 
Whyles mice an' moudieworts they howkit ; 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion. 
An' worry'd ither in diversion j 
Until w' daffin weary grown. 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
And there began a lang digression 
About the lords d the creation. 

* Cuchuliin's dog in Oflian's FinguL 



CMSAR. 

Tve often wonder'd, honest Luathy 
What sort o' Hfe poor dogs Hke you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies Hv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel *, 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach 5 he ca's his horse \ 
He draws a bonie silken purse, 
As lang's my tail, whare, through the steeks. 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks, 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin. 
Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sicklike trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner. 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner. 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth, Ccesar^ whyles they're fasK't enough v 
A cottar howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and sicklike, 
A 2 



Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans. 
An* nought but his han' daurg, to keep 
Them right and tight in thack an' rape. 

An* when they meet wi* sair disasters, 
Like loss o' heahh, or want o' masters. 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer. 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger : 
But, how it comes, I never kend yet. 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sick a way as this is. 

CMBAR. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit, 
How hufF'd, and cufF'd, and disrespeckit ! 
L — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sick cattle \ 
They gang as saucy by poor folk. 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae. 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash. 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, cur^ an' swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear 5 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humblej^ 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches \ 



LUATH, . 

They're aae sae wretched's ane wad think | 
Tho' constantly on poortlth's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them Httle fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares. 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts. 
Or tell what new taxation's comin. 
An' ferlie at the folk in JLoiHon. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns. 
They get the jovial, rantin kirns. 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station. 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps ; an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins. 
They bar the door on frosty winds \ 
A 3 



The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream. 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks, crackin crouse j 
The young anes rantin thro' the house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, ablins, thrang a-parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his soul indentin 

CMSAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it •, 
Tor Britain's guid! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him^ 
An' saying aye or /zo's they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading. 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading*, 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft. 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft. 
To mak a tour, an' tak a whirl. 
To learn bon ton an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles^ 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 



Or by Madrid he takes the rout, 

To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt •, 

Or down Italian vista startles, 

Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles : 

Then bouses drumly German water. 

To mak himsel look fair and fatter. 

An' clear the consequential sorrows, 

Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 

For Britain's guid ! for her destruction ! 

Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 

LUATH. 

Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O would they stay aback fra courts. 
An' please themselves wi' countra sports, 
It wad for every ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breakin o' their timmer. 
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer. 
Or shootin o' a hair or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Cdesary 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure % 
Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them. 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 



CMSAR* 

L — d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am^ 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes ; 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow themselves to vex them \ 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion less will hurt themx 
A country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acre's till'd, he's right enough ; 
A country girl at her wheel. 
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy ^ 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy •, 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless \ 
An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races^ 
Their galloping through public places, 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
The men cast out in party matches. 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 



The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters : 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks ; 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. 
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman \ 
But this is gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night : 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan : 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na me7i but dogs; 
An' each took afF his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 






10 



SCOTCH DRINK. 



Gie him strong drinJcy until he wink, 

Thafs sinking in despair; 
ArC liquor guid tojire his bluid, 

Thafsjprest m^ grief an' care; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse ^ 

Wr bumpers flowing der. 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An' minds his grief no more. 

Solomon's Frov. xxzi. 6, 7. 



LET other Poets raise a fracas 
'Bout vines, an' wines, an' druken Bacchus^ 
An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us. 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us. 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch Drink! 
Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink. 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink. 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink. 

To sing thy name ! 



11 



Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn. 
An' Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' Pease an' Beans at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn^ 

Thou king o' grain ! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us llvin •, 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin j 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At's weary toil ; 
Thou ev'n brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need. 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread. 

Thou kitchens fine. 



12 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspired, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in ! 
Or reekin on a New-year mornin 

In cog or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap spVitual burn in, 

An' gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath 

P th' lugget caup ! 
Then Burnewin comes on like death 

At ev'ry chaup. 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel. 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel. 

The strong forehammer, 
Tillblock an' etuddie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When sklrlin weanies see the light. 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright. 
How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight ; 

Wae worth the name ! 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them. 



13 



When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be. 
How easy can the harley-bree 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's ay the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barreL 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ; 
But monie daily weet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy ^ burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken ha^h, 

O' half his days \ 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 
To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland weH, 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel ! 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell. 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench. 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' xdiisky jninch 

Wi' honest men. 
B 



O Wliisky ! soul o* plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a — s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh I O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now cholic grips, an' barkin hoast 

May kill us a', 
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the Whisky stells their prize, 
Haud up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gillf 
An' routh o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An' deaFt about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 



15 

THE AUTHOR^s 
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER'' 

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES TN THE 
HOUSE OF COMMONS. 



Dearest of Distillation ! last and best ! 

How art thoii lost ! 

Parody os Milton. 



YE Irish Lords, ye Knights an' 'Squires, 
Wha rejrresent our brughs an* shires. 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In parliament, 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! 
Your Honors' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, 
To see her sittin on her a — 

Low i' the dust. 
An' scriechin out prosaic verse, 

An' like to burst ! 
B2 



• This was written before the Ad ancntthc Scotch Dlfiillerle?, 
of feflion 1786 ; for which Scotland and the Author return their 
moft grateful thanks. 



1^ 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me*s in great affliction, 
E'er sin they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavit (E ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth^ an' tell yon Premier Youths 
The honest, open, naked truth : 
Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth. 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom ; 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em \ 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes ye were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack •, 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, 
An' hum an' haw \ 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 
Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle ; 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle \ 
An' d-mn'd Excisemen in a bussle. 

Seizin a Stell^ 
Triumphant crushn't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 



If 

Then on the tither hand present herj 
A blackguard Smuggler right behint her, 
An' cheek-for-chow, a chuiEe Vinter, 

Colleaguing join. 
Picking her pouch as bare as Winter, 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears^ the name o' Scot^ 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot. 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves^ 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! 
But cou'd I like MontgorrCries fight, 

Or gab like Boswell^ 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight. 

An' tie some hose welh 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't. 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it. 
An' tell them wi' a patriot-heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause. 
An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 
B3 



18 



Dempstery a true blue Scot Tse warran ; 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ; 
An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham; 
An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name. 

Erskiney a spunkie Norland billie, 
True CampbeWsy Frederick^ an' Hay; 
An' Livingstone^ the bauld iS/r Willie; 

An' monie ithers, 
Wham auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for br it hers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle; 
Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettie, 

Ye'll see't or lang^, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in cankrous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whisky. 

An' L — d, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt. 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt. 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt 

r the first she meets ! 



19 

For G-d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair. 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed. 
An* strive, wi' a' your Wit an' Lear, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Foxj 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks \ 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie ! 
An' send him to his dicing box 

An' sportin lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock\ 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks. 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock\'^ 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch. 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 

* 

• A worthy old Hoftefs of the Author's In MaucUlne^ where 
he fometimes lludies Politics over a glafs of guid auld Scotch 
Drink, 



20 



An* if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 

Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five^and^Fortyy 
May still your Mither's heart support ye j 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty. 

An' kick your place, 
Ye!ll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty. 

Before his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes 

That haunt St Jamie's! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 



Postscript. 

Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise \ 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. 

But blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys 

Tak afF their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While Fragrance blooms an' beauty charms ! 
When wretches range in famish'd swarms. 

The scented groves. 
Or hounded forth, dislaonour arms 

In hungry droves. 



21 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To Stan' or rin, 
Till skelp^ — a shot — they're aff, a' throwther. 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, Such is royal George^s will, 

An' there's the foe \ 
He has na thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 



Nae cauld, faint-hearted doublings tease him ; 
Death comes ! — wi' fearless eye he sees him \ 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn e'en may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

. In clime an' season \ 

But tell va^lVhisJcy's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland^ my auld, respected Mither ! 
Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather. 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam \ 
Freedom and Whisky gang thegither, 

Tak aff your dram ! 



22 



DEATH 



DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 



A TRUE STORY. 



SOME books are lies frae end to end. 
And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n Ministers they hae been kenned, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times, to vend, 

And naiFt wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell. 
Which lately on a night befel, 
Is just as true's the Deil's in h-ll. 

Or Dublin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 
I was na fou, but just had plenty \ 
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An* hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 



25 

The rising Moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre : 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel 5 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's Millj 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker y 
The' leeward whyles, against my. will, 

I took a bicker. 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 
That put me in an eerie swither ; 
An' awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther. 

Clear-dangling, hang; 
A three-tae'd leister on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa. 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame it had ava ; 

And then its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks. 

" Guid-een," quo' I; "Friend ! hae ye been mawin> 
« When ither folk are busy sawin ?"* 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan. 

But naething spak ; 

♦ This rencounter happened in feed time, 1785. 



2^ 



At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun, 

" Will ye go back ?" 

It spak right howe, — << My name is Deaths 
«' But be na fley'd.'' — Quoth I, " Guid faith 1 
«^ Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

" But tent me billie ; 
" I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

*< See, there*s a gully !" 

" Gudeman," quo' he, ^^ put up your whittle, 
" I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
« But if I did, I wad be kittle 

" To be m.islear'd, 
<^ I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

" Out-owre my beard." 

^^ Weel, weel !" says I, " a bargain be't ; 
" Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're greet ; 
" We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

^' Come, gies your news \ 
<^ This while * ye hae been mony a gate, 

" At mony a house." 

" Ay, ay !" quo' he, an' shook his head, 
" Its e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
«« Sin I began to nick the thread, 

" An' choke the breath : 
*^ Folk maun do something for their bread, 

'' An' sae maun Death, 

* An q>idemlcal fever was then raging in that country. 



25 



« Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
<< Sin I was to the butch'ring bred, 
« An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

<< To stap or scar me ; 
<^ Till ane Hornbook' s"^ ta'en up the trade, 

«^ An' faith, he'll waur me. 

*' Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 
<^ Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! 
^^ He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Btickanf 

" An' ither chaps, 
«f The weans haud out their fingers laughin, 

<* An' pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
^* They hae pierc'd mony ^ gallant heart ; 
« But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

" And cursed skill, 
« Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

" D-mn'd haet they'd kill ! 

« 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 
« I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
«< Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; 

" But deil ma-care, 
« It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

" But did na mair. 

C 



♦ This gentleman, Dr Hornbook^ is, profeflionally, a brother 
of the fovereign Order of the Ferula ; but, by intuition a!;d ^ 
infpiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Phyfician. 

f Buchan's Domeftic Medicine* 



26 



^^ Hmnhook was by, wi* ready art, 
« And had sae fortify'd the part, 
*^ That when I looked to my dart, 

" It was sae blutit, 
<< Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

^< Of a kail-runt. 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
^< I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
«^ But yet the bauld Apothecary 

« Withstood the shock ; 
** I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

« O' hard whin rock. 

^« Ev'n them he canna get attended, 
*^ Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, 
<< Just in a kail-blade, and send it, 

" As soon's he smells^t, 
*« Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 

« At once he tells't. 

'< And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
<^ Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
*^ A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

" He's sure to hae ; 
^< Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

« As A B C. 

<^ Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
« True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
^< The Farina of beans and pease, 

" He has't in plenty ; 
<« Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

<< He can content ye. 



27 

*« Forbye some new, uncommon weaponsj 
<« Urinus Spiritus of Capons ; 
*« Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

" DistilFd per se ; 
« Sal-alkali o' Midge-tall-clippings, 

« An' mony mae." 

<« Waes me for Johnny GecTs Hole^ now,'' 
Quoth I, " if that thae news he true ! 
« His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 

« Sae white an' bonie, 
*^ Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 

" They'll ruin Johnie /" 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh. 
And says, << Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 
" Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

<< Tak ye nae fear : 
<< They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh> 

«« In twa-three year. 

« Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
" By loss o' blood or want o' breath, 
" This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

" That HcrrnbooVs skill 
*« Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

" By drap an' pill. 

*< An honest Wabster to his trade, 
" Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, 
" Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, V 

" When it was sair j 
^« The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

<^ But ne'er spak mair. 
C2 
• The grayc- digger. 



28 



" A countra Laird had ta*en the batts, 
" Or some curmurring in his guts, 
*< His only son for Hornbook sets, 

" An' pays him well. 
«< The lad, for twa guld glmmer-pets, 

" Was Laird himsel. 

" A bonie lass, ye kend her name, 
" Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her w^me j 
« She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

" In HornhooV% care \ 
" Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 

"To hide it there. 

*< That's just a swatch o' Hornbook^ s way j 
" Thus goes he on from day to day, 
<< Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

" An's weel paid for't ; 
*• Yet stops me o' my lawfu* prey, 

« Wi' his d-mn'd dirt : 

" But, hark \ Til tell you of a plot, 
" The' dinna ye be speakin o't \ 
<< I'll nail the self-conceited Sot, 

<^ As dead's a herrin j 
«< Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

«< He gets his farin !" 

But just as he began to tell. 
The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 
Some wee short hour ayont the twal^ 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel. 

And sae did Death. 



29 



THE 



HOLY FAIR.* 



A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty observation; 
And secret hung^ with poisoned crusty 

The dirJc of Defamation : 
A mask that like the goiget shew'd. 

Dye-varying on the pigeon; 
And for a mantle large and broad^ 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la-mobe.. 



I. 



UPON a simmer Sunday morn, 
When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn. 

An' snufFthe caller air. 
The rising sun owre Galston muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin •, 
The hares were hirplin down the furs. 
The lav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 
C3 



* Holy Fair Is a common phrafe in the weft of Scotland for ft 
facram^ntal occaiion. 



so 



11. 



As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad^ 

To see the scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road. 

Cam skelpin up the way r 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black. 

But ane wi' lyart lining ^ 
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining, 

Fu' gay that day. 

III. 

The t*ma appear'd like sisters twin. 

In feature, form an^ claes ! 
Their visage withered, lang an* thin. 

An' sour as ony slaes \ 
The third cam up, hap-step-anMowp, 

As light as ony lambie, 
An* wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu* kind that day. 

IV. 

Wi* bonnet afF, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 

" I think ye seem to ken me ; 
<< Pm sure Fve seen that bonie face, 

<< But yet I canna name ye." 
Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak. 

An' t?aks me by the hands, 
« Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

<^ Of a' the ten commands 

" A screed some day* 



31 

V. 

" My name Is Fun — your cronie dear, 

^< The nearest friend ye hae \ 
<^ An' this is Superstition here, 

" An' that's Hypocrisy. 
« I'm gaun to *^^^***^* Holy Faivy 

<^ To spend an hour in daffin : 
*< Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, 

<« We will get famous laughin 

" At them this day f 

VL 

Quoth I, " With a' my heart, Til do't \ 

" ril get my Sunday's sark on, 
^* An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

^* Faith we'se hae fine remarkin [** 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, 

An' soon I made me ready •, 
For roads were clad frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie body. 

In droves that day, 

VIL 

Here farmers gash, in ridin graith, 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters \ 
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith, 

Are springin o'er the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang. 

In silks an' scarlets glitter \ 
Wi' sTiSoeet'Tnilk cheese^ in monie a whang, 

AxCfarls bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 



3» 



VIII. 



When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi^ ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black-Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show. 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin ; 
Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stools, 

An' some are busy bleth'rin 

Right loud that day. 

IX. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra Gentry, 
There, racer JesSj an' twa-three wh-res. 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin jades, 

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck. 
An' there a batch o' wabster lads. 

Blackguarding frae K ek, 

Yor fun this day. 

X. 

Here some are thinkin o' their sins,, 

An' some upo' their claes \ 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud-faces ;, 
On that a set o' chaps a*t watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 



3S 



XI. 



O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm reposed on the chair back. 

He sweetly does compose him •, 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

XII. ^ 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For ****** speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' d-mn-t-n. 
Should Horniey as in ancient days, 

*Mang sons o' G — present him. 
The vera sight o' ******'$ face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

XIII. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! 
Now meekly calm, — now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, 

His eldritch squeel and gestures, 
O how they jfire the heart devout. 

Like cantharidian plasters, 

On sick a day \ 



34 

XIV. 

But, hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice i 

There's peace an' rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise ^ 

They canna sit for anger. 
**### opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs. 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

XV. 

What signifies his barren shine, 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine^ 

Or some auld pagan Heathen^ 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

XVL 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum \ 
Yqy ****^***, frae the water-fit. 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' G^ — , 

An' meek an' mim has view'd it ; 
"While Common-Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' afi^, an' up the Cowgate,* 

Fast, fast, that day. 

• A ftreet fo called, which faces the tent in - ■■ 



35 



XVII. 

Wee *^*****, niest, the Guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkle wants a Manse, 

So, cannily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafl9lins-ways o'ercomes him 

At times that day. 

XVIII. 

Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day, 

XIX. 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either School or College ; 
It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 

It pangs us fou o' Know^ledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep. 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 



36 



XX. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body. 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're making observations ; 
While some are cozie V the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

XXL 

But now the L — d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin. 
An' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black ****** is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highlan* swords, * 

Divide the joints an^ marrow ; 
His talk o* H-U, whare devils dwell. 

Our vera sauls does harrow,* 

Wi' fright that day. 

XXII. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane, 
Wha's ragin flame, an' schorehin heat. 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane | 
The half-asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin. 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 

Asleep that day 

* Shakefpeare*8 HamleL 



37 
XXIIL 

'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How monle stories past, 
An' how they crouded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cog, an' caups, 

Amang the furms and benches ; 
An* cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches. 

An' dawds that day. 

XXIV. 

In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife ; 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Guidmen, about the gi^acey 

Frae side to side they bother. 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

XXV. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass. 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie his braw claithing ! 
O Wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel. 

How bonie lads you wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel. 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sick a day ! 
D 



S8 



XXVL 

Now ClinJcumbeUy wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon -, 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

They're a' in famous tune. 

For crack that day. 

XXVII. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' Sinners and o' Lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane gin night are gane 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine ; 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in houghmagandie 

Some ither day* 



39 



THE 



BiriGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 

Inscribed to J. £*********, Esq. Ayr. 

THE simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough. 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ^ 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet| in the greerl thorn 

bush \ 
The soaring krk^ the perching red-brenst shrill. 
Or deap'ton'd plovers, grey, wild-wiiisthng o'er the 

hill-, 
Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy Independence bravely bred, 
By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And trained to arms in stern Misfortune's field-. 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close. 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ? 
No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings^, 
He glows with all the spirit of a Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward* 
Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skiil'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
D2 



When B*******^* befriends his humble name. 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame. 
With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swelk, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



lies, 3 



^Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And tliack and rape secure the toil-won crap •, 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath : 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnumber'd bud^ an' flow'rs' delicious spoils 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen pileS; 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak. 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstane reek •, 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ^ 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings. 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noontide 

blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the 

rays. 
^Twas in that season when a simple Bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
Ae night within the ancient brugh of At/?-, 
By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care, 



41 

He left his bed, an' took his wayward rout, 

And down by Simpson's^ wheel'd the left about : 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, wrapt in meditation high. 

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why,) 

The drowsy Dungeon^lockj had number'd two. 

An' Wallace Tow^r\ had sworn the fact was true : 

The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar. 

Thro' the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore : 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e : 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 

Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream. — 

When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard \ 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air. 
Swift as the GosX drives on the wheeling hare •, 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears. 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them„ 
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 
llie vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
D 3 

• A noted tavern at the Auld Brig cr.d, 

t The two fleeples. 

\ The gof hawlc, or falcon. 



4i 

He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
Yet teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Lon'on^ frae ane Adam^y got^ 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls and whitlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search. 
Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e. 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He, down the water, gies him this guideen- — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see ; 
There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle, 

N£IV BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but shew your little mense. 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street. 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet. 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime. 
Compare wi' bonie Brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream'^ ^ 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, 

* A noted ford, jufl above the Auld Brig. 



43 



E'er they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff 'd up wi' windy pride ! 
This mony a year Fve stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a Brig^ when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Cc//, 
Or stately Liigar's mossy fountains boil. 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpal"^ draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes. 
In mony a torrent down the sna-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat. 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 
And from Gle7ibiicky\ down to the Ratton-Kay^X 
Auld Ayy^ is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea \ 
Then down ye'll hurl, — deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies, 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost. 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 



♦ The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the 
weft of Scotland, where thofe fancy fearing beings, known by the 
nanie of Ghaists^ ft ill continue pertinacioufly to inhabit. 

f The fource of the river of Ayr. 

i A fmall landing-place above the large key. 



4# 



NEIV BRIG. 



Fine Architecture^ trowth, I needs must say't o't \ 
The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging, with threat'ning jut, like precipices 5 
O'er-arching mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves. 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculptures drest. 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam-Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim \ 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 1 
And still the second dread command be free, f 

Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, ar sea. j 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace. 
Or Cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion j 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection. 
And soon may they expire, unblest wi' resurrection [ 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings : 
Ye worthy P7'0vesesy an' mony a Bailicj 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay j 
Ye dainty DeaconSy an' ye douce Conveenersy 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town } 
Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, 



Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the smiters! 
And (what would now be strange) jq godly Writers: 
A' ye douce folk Tve borne aboon the broo. 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each melancholy alteration •, 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base degenerate race ! 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story ! 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house \ 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Taylors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d ■ d neiio 
Brigs and Harbours! 

NEIV BRIG. 

Now haud you there ! for faith ye've said enough, 

And muckle mair than ye can mak to through. 

As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, 

Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 

But, under favour o' your langer beard, 

Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd 5 

To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 

I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Ayr^ Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 

To mouth " a Citizen," a term o' scandal : 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit 5 

Men wha grew "wise priggin owre hops an' raisins, 

Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins, 



4^ 



If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp. 
And would to Common-sense, for once betray'd 

them, 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed. 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appeared in order bright : 
A down the glittering stream they featly danc*d : 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ; 
They footed o^er the wat'ry glass so naat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M^Laiichtan^y thairm-inspiring Sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When thro' his dear Straphspei^s they bore with 

Highland rage y 
Or %vhen they struck old Scotia^s melting airs, 
The lovers raptur'd joys or bleeding cares \ 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd. 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch in- 
spired ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard j 
Harmonious concert rung in every part. 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the hearts 

• A well know a performer of Scottlfh mufic on the violin. 



H 



47 



The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd. 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in liand with Spring ; 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
And summer with his fervid-beaming eye ; 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
Led yellow Autumn wreathed with nodding corn : 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
Next foUow'd Courage with his martial stride. 
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode. 
From simple CatriiiCy their long-lov'd abode : 
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with ahazel wreath. 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken, iron instruments of death ; 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling 
wrath. 



48 



ADDRESS 



TO THE 



DEIL. 



Prince I O Chief of many throned Pai^rSy 
That led tK embattVd Seraphim to war — 

Milton. 

OThou ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie^ for a wee. 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a deily 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 



49 



Great is thy powV, an' great thy fame ; 
Far kend an* noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame. 

Thou travels far j 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion. 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 

Tirlin the kirks ; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my rev'rend Graymie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld-ruin'd castles, gray. 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer*s way, 

Wi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Graimie summon 
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone : 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 
Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough : 
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 

E 



50 



The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair stood Hke a stake. 
When, wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd, hke a drake. 

On whisthng wings. 

Let warlocks grim, an' withered hags^ 
Tell how wi' you on rag-weed nags. 
They skim the muirs, and dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain. 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, Oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse. 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house. 

By cantrip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse. 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jingling icy-boor d. 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An' nighted Trav'llers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 



51 



An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous munkies 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Masons mystic xiord an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage m?.un stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

AfF straught to h-lL 

Lang syne, in Ede?i^s bonie yard, 
"When youthfu* lovers first were pair'd. 
An' all the Soul of Love they shar'd. 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! 
Ye came to Paradise incog, 
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog, 

'Maist ruin'd a', 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz. 
Ye did present your smootie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklentit on the ma?i of JJzz 

Your spitefu' joke ? 
E2 



r^^ 



An' how he gat him 'i your thrall, 
An* brak him out o' house an' hall. 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw. 
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, 

Was warst ava ? 

But a' your doings to rehearse. 
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce. 
Sin that day Michael"^ did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme* 

And now, auld Cloots^ I ken ye're thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkln. 

To your black pit \ 
But faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld NicJcie-ben I 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' I 
Ye ablins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
Pm wae to think upo' yon iX^n^ 

Ev'n for your sake f 

* Vide MiLTOfJ, Book VL 



5S 



DREAM. 



Thm^htSy \joordsy and ckedsy the Statute blames mth 

reasoHy 
But surely Dreams "were n^ev indicted Treason. 



[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureates Od:, with the 

other parade of June 4^ 1786, the Author was no fooner 

dropt aflecp, than he imagined himfelf tranfported to the. 

Birth-day Levee ; and in his dreaming fancy, madt the fol- 

%)Wing Addrefs,'] 



3««©|<^^|0«««« 



GUID-MORNIN to your Majesty^ 
May heav'n augment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new Birth-day ye see, 

A humble Poet wishes ! 
My Bardship here, at your Levee, 

On sic a day as this is. 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 
Amang thae Birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day, 
E3 



$4 
IL 



I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By mony a lord and lady j 
*« God save the King !" 's a cuckoo sang 

That'ls unco easy said ay ; 
The PoetSy too, a venal gang 

Wi' rhymes weel turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang> 

But ay unerring steady, 

On sic a day, 

III. 

For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension. Post, nor Place^ 

Am I your humble debtor ; 
So, nae reflection on Your Grace^ 

Your Kingship to bespatter ; 
There's monie waur been o' the Race, 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day, 

IV. 

^TIs very true, my sovereign King, 

My skill may wieel be doubted : 
But facts are cheels that winna ding, 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your Royal nest, beneath Your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted. 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less> will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 



V. 



Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your Legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire. 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But, faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire^ 

YeVe trusted Ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre. 

Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day,. 

VI. 

And now yeVe gien auld Britain peace. 

Her broken shins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester j 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease^ 

Nae bargain wearing faster. 
Or, faith ! I fear, that, wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

r the craft some day, 

VII. 

Fm no mistrusting Willie Pitty 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' WilVs a true guid fallow's Get, 

A Name not Envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt^ 

An' lessen a' your charges •, 
But, G-d sake ! let nae saving-Jit 

Abridge your bonie Barges 

An' Boats this dav. 



S6 
VIII. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may Freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since Tm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queerij with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth day. 

IX. 

Hail, Majesty Most Excellent I 

While nobles strive to please Ye,u 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies Ye } 
Thae bonie Bairntime, Heaven ha§ lent, 

Still higher may they heeze Ye 
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent. 

For ever to release Ye 

Frae care that day. 



X. 

For you, young Potentate o' W- 
I tell your Highness fairly. 



Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely -, 

But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 
An' curse your folly sairly. 

That e'er ye brak Diana^s pales. 
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie^ 

By night or day. 



57 

XI. 

Yet aft a ragged Cowte^s been known 

To mak a noble Aivev; 
So, ye may doucely fill a Throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, Him* at Agincourt wha shone. 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir JoTin^^ 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 

XIL 

For you, right revVend O ^ 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribban at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the Keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye'U stain the Mitre 

Some luckless day. 

XIII. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeksy I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious Gallei/yX stem an' stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus barter \ 

* King Henry V. 

t Sir John Faiftaff, Fide Shakefpeare, 

\ Alluding to the Ncws^papcr scccunt of a certain Royal 
Sailor's amour, 



58 



But first hang out, that she'll discern. 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave abroad your grapple airn, 

An', large upo' her quarter. 

Come full that day. 

XIV. 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a'> 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a' plenty : 
But sneer na British beys awa*, 

For Kings are unco scant ay j 
An' German Gentles are but sma\ 

They're better just than *mant ay 

On onie day. 

XV. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautet : 
But ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't at it •, 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautet 

Fu' clean that day^ 



59 



THE 



INVENTORY. 

Li AnsniO€7' to a Mandate by a Surveyat' of the Taxes. 






SIR, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, 
To which I'm clear to gie my aith. 

Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, 
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle. 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
My * Lan' afore's a guid auld has beeUy 
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. 
My f Lan' ahin's a weel gaun fiUie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,:}: 
An' your auld burrough mony a time. 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance when in my wooing pride 
I like a blockhead boost to ride. 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(L — d pardon a' my sins an' that to !) 

• The fore-horfe on the left-hand in the plough, 
f The hindmofl on the left-hand in the plough. 
\ Kilmarnock. 



60 



I play'd my fiUie sic a shavie, 
She's a' bedevird wi' the spavie. 
My § Furr ahin's a wordy beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. — 
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
A d — n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie ; 
Foreby a County o' Cowfs the wale, 
As ever ran afore a tail. 
If he be spar'd to be a beast. 
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. — 
Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 
Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken : 
I made a poker o' the spin'le,. 
An' my auld mother brunt the trin'le. — 
For men I've three mischievous boys. 
Run deils for rantin and for noise : 
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other. 
Wee Davock hauds the nowt in fother. 
I rule them as I ought, discreetly. 
An' aften labour them completely. 
An' ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
I on the questions targe them tightly ; 
Till faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you afF Effectual Calling, 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. — 
I've nane in female servan' station, 
(L— d keep me ay frae a' temptation !) 
I ha'e nae wife -, and that my bliss is. 
An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; 

§ The hindmoU horfe on the righr-hand o^ the plough. 



6i 



An' then if kirk folks dinna clutcli me, 

I ken the devils dare na touch me. 

Wi' weans Fm mair than weel contented, 

Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 

My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 

She stares the daddy in her face. 

Enough of ought ye Hke but grace ; 

But her, my bonie sweet wee lady, 

IVe paid enough for her already. 

An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 

B' the L — d ! ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now, remember, Mr A-k-n, 
Nae kind of licence out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. — 
The Kirk and you may tak you that, 
It puts but little in your pat : 
Sae dinna put me in your buke. 
Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list wl' my ain han' I wrote it. 
Day an' date as under notit. 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic^ Robert Burns. 

Mossgiely 22d Feb, 1786. 
F 



62 

DESPONDENCY. 

AN ODE. 

I. * 

OPPRESS'D with grief, oppressed with care^ 
A burden more than I can bear, 
I set me down an* sigh ; 
O Life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road. 

To wretches, such as I ! 
Dim-backward as I cast my view, 
What sick'ning Scenes appear ! 
What Sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er 
But with the closing tomb ! 



IL 

Happy ye sons of Busy-life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end\ deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward : 



6S 

Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight. 

Unfitted with an aimj 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night. 
And joyless morn the same. 
You bustling, and justling. 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I listless, yet restless. 
Find ev'ry prospect vain. 

III. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot. 

Within hk humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream. 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heav'n on high> 
As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

IV. 

Than I, no lonely Hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part •, 
The lucky moment to improve. 
And Just to stop, ^nd just to move. 

With self-respecting art ; 

F2 



64 



But ah ! those Pleasures, Loves, and Joys, 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 



Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's ma^e, 

To Care, to Guilt unknown ! 
How ill-exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like hnnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all. the tears all, 
Of dim-declining Age ! 



65 



THE 



VISION. 



THE sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The Curlers quat their roaring play, 
An' hunger'd Maukin taen her way 

To kail-yards green. 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

The Thresher's vre^iry ^mgiTi-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the Day had clos'd his e'e. 

Far i' the West, 
Ben i' the Spencey right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and eyed the spewing reek. 
That fiU'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek. 

The auld, clay biggin ^ 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin* 
F3 



* Duarij a term of OfTian's for the different divifions of a di- 
greffive Poem. Sec his Cutb-Lodaj Vol. %, of JVrPherfon's 
Trandbtiofi. 



66 



All In this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done naething, 
But stnngm blethers up in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a Bank, an' clarkit 

My cash«account ; 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit. 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof. 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rash aith. 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick did draw ; 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
And by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight outlandish Hizziey braw. 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whist y 
The infant aith, half-form'd was crusht ^ 
I glowr'd as eerie's Td been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht. 

And stepped ben. 



Green, slender, leaf-clad Holly-houghs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse; 

By that same token ; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken* 



A ^^ hair-brain'd sentimental trace,'' 
Was strongly marked in her face -, 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her 5 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beem'd keen with Honor. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen. 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her Mantle large, of greenish hue. 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades^ bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand y 
And seem'd to my astonish'd view, 

A "joell-knoxson Land^ 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost •, 
There, mountains to the skies were tost : ' 

Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast. 

With surging foam ^ 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast. 

The lordly dome. 



66 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ^ 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore> 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar^ 

Low, in a sandy valley spread. 
An ancient Borough rear'd her head j 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race. 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred. 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately towV or palace fair. 
Or ruins pendent in the air. 
Bold stems of Heroes, here and there> 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 
To see a * Race heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthren foes. 

His CouNTRT^s SAViouR,f mark him well ! 
Bold JRiehardson^sX heroic swell -y 

^ The Wallaces. t William Wallace. 

i Adam Wallace of Richardfon^ coufm to the immortal pre- 
ferver of Scottifh Independance, 



69 



The chief on Sark* who glorious fell, 

In high command ^ 

And He whom ruthless Fates expel 

His native land. 



There, where sceptr'd Pictish shade f 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd 

In colours strong \ 
BoLd, soldier-featur'd, undismayed 

They strode along* 

% Thro* many a wild, romantic grove, 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love, 

In musing mood) 
An aged Judge^ I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 



• Wallace, Iwaird of Craigle, who was fecond in command, 
under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the 
bauks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious vldlory was 
principally owing to the judicious condu^Sl and intrepid valour 
cf the gallant Lajrd of Craigie, who died of his wounds after 
the a^flion. 



t Coilus, King of the PiAs, from whom the diflri(5l of Kyle 
is faid to take its mrtK, lies buried, as tradition fays, near the 
family feat of the Montgomeries of Coils-Scld, where his bural 
place is flili fhovvn. 

^ Barskimming, the feat of the Lord Juftice-Clerk, 



70 



* With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned Sire and Son 1 saw, 
To Nature's God, and Nature's law 

They gave their lore. 
This, all its source and end to draw, 

That, to adore. 

Brydonh brave Wardf I well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotiah smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a Patriot-name on high 

And Hero shone. 



»44«^!QK<9;^^:« 



DUAN SECOND. 



With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fairs 
A whisper'd throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 

^< All hail ? my own inspired Bard ! 
«^ In me my native Muse regard ! 
<< No longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

" Thus poorly low ! 
«< I come to give thee such reward 

" As we bestow. 



* Catrinc, the feat of the late DoAor, and prefcnt Profcflbrj 
StewaFd. 

t Colonel Fullarton, 



11 



f< Know, the great Genius of this Land 
" Has many a light, aerial band, 
«^ Who, all beneath his high command 

*^ Harmoniously, 
<* As Arts or Arms they understand, 

" Their labours ply. 

« They Scotia^s race among them share ; 
" Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; 
« Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

*' Corruption's heart : 
<^ Some teach the Barcl, a darling care, 

" The tuneful art. 

*^ 'Mongst swelling floods of reeking gore, 
" They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
" Or, mid the venal Senate's roar, 

" They, sightless stand, 
<< To mend the honest Patriot lore, 

<« And grace the hand. 

*^ And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
** Charm or instruct the future age, 
" They bind the wild, Poetic rage 

" In energy, 
" Or point the inconclusive page 

*« Full on the eye. 

<< Hence Fullarfojij the brave and young \ 
" tlence Dempster^ zeal-inspired tongue ; 
" Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

« His « Minstrel lays j' 
^* Or tore, with nobler ardour stung, 

" The Sceptic's bays. 



72 



« To lower orders are assigned 
« The humbler ranks of Human kind, 
<^ The rustic Bard, the labVing Hind, 

" The Artisan ; 
^^ All chuse, as various they're inclined, 

^' The various man. 

^^ When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
^^ The threat'ning storm, some, strongly, rein ; 
<' Some teach to meliorate the plain, 

" With tillage-skill ; 
^^ And some instruct the Shepherd-train, 

^^ Blythe o'er the hill. 

*^ Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; 
« Some grace the Maiden's artless smile ; 
*« Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil, 

" For humble gains, 
« And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

*^ His cares and pains. 

*^ Som^, bounded to a district space, 
*^ Explore at large Man's infant race, 
*^ To mark tlie embryotic trace, 

«^ Of rustic Bard ; 
<^ And careful note each op'ning grace, 

*' A guide and guard. 

<^ Of these am I—Coila my name ; 
<« And this district as mine I claim, 
" Where once the Campbells y chiefs of fame, 

" Held ruling pow'r \ 
<< I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

<^ Tliy natal hour. 



7S 



"i^ With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
«< Fond, on thy little early ways, 
«* Thy rudely carolFd, chiming phrase, 

" In uncouth rhymes, 
<< Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

<« Of other times. 

<^ I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
^« Delighted with the dashing roar j 
*^ Or when the North his fleecy store 

" Drove thro* the sky, 
^^ I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

« Struck thy young eye. 

*^ Or when the deep green-mantl'd Earth, 
*^ Warm cherish'd ev'ry floweret's birth, 
" And joy and music pouring forth 

^^ In evVy grove, 
** I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

" With boundless love* 

^f When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
*^ Call'd forth the Reapers' rustling noise, 
** I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

" And lonely stalk, 
^^ To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

*^ In pensive walk. 

^* When youthful Love, warm-blushing strong, 
<^ Keen-shtvering shot thy nerves along, 
«< Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

" Th' adored Name, 
** I taught thee how to pour in song, 

<^ To soothe thy flame. 

G 



74 



<< I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
« Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
<« Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, 

<^ By Passion driven ; 
« But yet the light that led astray 

<^ Was light from Heaven. 

<« I taught thy manners-painting strains 
«« The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
^' Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

^^ Thy fame extends ; 
^^ And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

" Become thy friends. 

«< Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
«* To paint with Thompson's landscape glow ; 
«* Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

« With Shenstone's art : 
<« Or pour, with Gray^ the moving flow 

" Warm on the heart. 

« Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd Rose, 
<^ The lowly Daisy sweetly blows ; 
<« Tho' large the forest's Monarch throws 

*^ His army shade, 
<^ Yet green the juicy Hawthorn grows, 

<< A down the glade. 

<^ Then never murmur nor repine ; 
<< Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
« And trust me, not Potosi^s mine, 

<* Nor King's regard, 
<< Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

« A rustic Bard. 



75 



« To give my counsels all in one, 
*« Thy tuneful flame still careful fan j 
" Preserve the Dignity of Man^ 

^^ With soul erect ; 
" And trust the Universal Plan 

« Will all protect. 

'* And wear thou this^^ — she solemn said, 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play \ 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away.^ 



G2 




7^ 

THE 

DEATH AND DYING WORDS 

OF 

POOR MAILIE, 

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO MOURN FU^ TALE. 

As Mailie^ an' her lambs thegither, 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc^ he came doytin by. 

Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han^s. 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's ;. 
He saw her days were near hand ended, 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it \ 
He gaped wide, but naething spak ; 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

«f O thou, whose lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 

♦ A neibor herd-callan. 



r? 

" Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o^ hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at their will : 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' ! 

" Tell him, he was a Master kin'. 
An' aye was good to me and mine ! 
An' now my dying cliarge I gie him : 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him* 

^* Oj bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay, an' rips o' corn. 

" An' may they never learn the gaets 
Of ithec vile, wanrestfu' jo^/5/ 
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave, an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great Forbears, 
For monie a year come thro' the sheers : 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

" My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir^ 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
G3 



7S 



An* if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some bavins in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name. 
To stay content wi* yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless, brutes. 

«< An' niest, my ycmiey silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop -, 
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

« And now, my bairns, wi' my last breathy 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

^« Now, honest HughoCy dinna fail 
To tell my Master a' my talej 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An' for thy pains, thou'se get my blether." 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head. 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead. 




79 

FOOR MAI LIE' 3 
ELEGY. 



LAMENT In rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nosej 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead ! 
The last sad cap-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie's deadl 

It's na the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our Bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed | 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear. 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the town she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ! 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him. 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense : 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence. 

Thro' thievish greed> 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence 

Sin Mailie'% dead. 



80 



Or, If he wanders up the howe,. 
Her living image in her yome^ 
Gomes bleating to him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread y. 
An' down the briny pearls rowe. 

For Muilie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi' tawted ket an' hairy hips ; 
For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed; 
A hoviiQv Jleesk ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than Mailie's dead. 



Wae worth the man who first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape I 
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape 

Wi' chokin dread ;. 
An' Robin's honnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 



O, a' ye Bards on bonie Dt)on ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! ' 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O* RohirCs reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon ! 

His Mailie^s dead. 



81 



THB 



ORDINATION. 



For sense they little o^we to frugal Heav'n — 
To please the Moby they hide the little giv'n. 



L 



K ********* Wabster^s fidge an* claw, 
An* pour your creeshie nations j 
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, 

Of a' denominations ; 
Swith to the Laigh KirJcy ane an' a' 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to B — gb — 's in a raw, 
An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day, 

II. 

Curs'd Common-sense, that imp o* h-11, 
Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder :* 

But O******* aft made her yell. 
An' R***** sair misca'd her ^ 



* Alluding to a fcoffing ballad which was made on the admii^ 
Con of the lace Reyerend: and worthy Mr L ■ ■ - to the 

Laigh Kirk. 



«$ 



This day M******* tafcs the flail, 
An' he's the boy will blaud her ! 

He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 
An' set the bairns to daud her 

Wi' dirt this day. 

III. 

Mak haste an' turn king David owre 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
O' double verse come gie us four. 

An' skirl up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Na@ mair the knaves shall wrang h€r> 
For Heresy is in her powV, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 

Wi' pith this day* 

IV. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham^ leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineasf drove the murdering blade> 

Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Ztpporah^X the scauldin jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

TtK' inn that d^y. 

• Geneiiis, ch. ix* ver. az. 
f Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8. 
f Exodus, ch. iv. ver. 25 ». 



as 



There try his mettle on the creed. 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion ; 
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed. 

And punish each transgression 5 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin, 

Spare them nae day. 

VI. 

Now auld K**'**^**** cock thy tail. 

And toss thy horns fu' canty : 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale. 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty. 
An* runts o* grace the pick and wale. 

No gi'en by way o' dainty. 

But ilka day, 

VII. 

Nae mair by BabeVs streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zioii; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep. 

Like baby-clouts a dryin : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin : 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep. 

And a' like lamb tails flyin 

Fu' fast this day ! 



84 



VIIL 



Lang Patroriagey wl^ rod o' aim. 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately F-rvw^ky sair forfairn. 

Has proven to its ruin ; 
Our Patron, honest man ! Gl*****"**, 

He saw mischief was brewin j 
And like a godly elect bairn. 

He's wal'd us out a true ane. 

And sound this day. 

IX. 

Now R**^***'^ harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever. 
Or try the wicked town of A**, 

For there they'll think you clever : 
Or, nae reflection on your lear. 

Ye may commence a Shaver j 
Or to the N-th-rt-n repair. 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

AfF-hand this daye 

X. 

^###*# ^j^j yQ^ were just a match. 

We never had sic two drones : 
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch. 

Just like a winkin baudrons : 
And ay he catch'd the tither wretch. 

To fry them in his caudrons : 
But now his Honor maun detach, 

Wi' 2l his brimstone squadrons. 

Fast, fast, this day. 



85 



XI. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein thro' the city ; 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! 

I vow its unco pretty : 
There, learning, with his Greekish face. 

Grunts out some Latin ditty : 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

XIL 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell. 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there, they're packed afF to hell. 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

XIIL 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 

]y[c##**###^ R#####^ ^j.g ^j^e boys 

That Heresy can torture ; 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse. 
And cow her measure shorter 

By th' head some day, 
H 



^6 



XIV. 

Come, teing the tither mutchkin in, 

And here's for a conclusion. 
To every New-Ltghf^ mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion : 
If mair they deave us with their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion. 
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them afF in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



* Netv-light is a cant phrafe, in the weft of Scotland, for thofe 
religious opinions which Dr Taylor, of Norwich, has defended 
fo ftrenuoufly. 




87 



TO 



T^ § * * * i|s 



Friendship! Mysterious cement of the soul! 
Sxs^eefner of Life y and solder of Society I 
I owe thee Tnuch* 

' Blaiiu 



DEAR S****, the sleest, paukie thief. 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief. 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 



For me, I swear by sim an' moon. 
And ev'iy star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair taen Fm wi' you. 

H2 



88 



That auld capricious carlin, nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit statiu-e. 
She's turn'd you off, a human creature 

On her^rst plan. 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature. 

She's wrote, the Man. 

Just now Pve taen the fit o' rhyme. 
My barmie noddle's working prime. 
My fancy yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash 5 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash ! 
Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ! 
For me, an aim I never fash : 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
An' damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But in requit. 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid black prent; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent. 

Something cries, "Hoolle! 
*< I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

<< Ye'U shaw your folly. 



89 

" There's ither Poets, much your betters, 
^ Far seen in Qt^eeky deep men o' letters, 
" Hae thought they had ensured their debtors, 

*^ A' future ages 5 
" Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, 

<« Their unknown pages." 

Then farewel hopes o' laurel boughs. 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang, 

I'll wander on with tentless heed. 
How never-halting moments speed. 
Till fate shall snap my brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown^ 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death Begin a tale ? 
Just now we're living sound and hale, 
Then top and main-top croud the sail. 

Heave Care o'er-side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale. 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted fairy land. 
Where Pleasure is the Majic Wand, 

That, weilded right, 
Maks Hours like Minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light, 

H 3 



90 



The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speeFd, 
See crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrlnkl'd face. 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wr creepin pace. 

When ance lifers day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
And fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin. 

An' social noise ; 
An* fareweel dear, deluding womauy 

The joy of joys ! 

O life ! how pleasant In thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at the expected warnings 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here. 
We eye the rose upon the brier. 
Unmindful that the thorn is near. 

Among the leaves j 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot. 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat. 

But care or pain j 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 



91 

With steady aim, same Fortune chase ; 
Keen hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey : 
Then cannie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

An' others, like your humble servan'. 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin : 
To right or left, eternal sv/ervin, 

They zig-zag on \ 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin. 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce with peevish, poor complaining ! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining. 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door. 
And kneel, " Ye pow'rs !" and warm implore, 
« Tho' I should wander Teyra o'er, 

" In all her climes, 
" Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

" Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

^^ Gie dreeping roasts to countra Lairds, 
" Till icicles hing frae their beards 5 
** Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-gaurds, 

" And Maids of Honor ; 
•^ And yill an* whisky gie to Cairds, 

** Until they sconner. 



92 



« A Title, Dempster merits it ; 
«« A garter gie to TVzllie Pitt ; 
♦< Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, 

*^ In cent, per cent. 
^ But gie me real, sterling Wit, 

<« And Tm content. 

** While Ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
*^ FU sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
*' Be't water-brose or inusliii-kailj 

« Wi' cheerfu' face, 
^ As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

« To say the grace.'^ 

An anxious e*e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath Misfortune's, blows^ 

As weel's I may; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

O ye douce folk, that live by rule. 
Grave,, tideless-blooded, calm and cool. 
Compared, wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool. 

Your lives, a dyke ! 

Nae hair-brain'd sentimental traces. 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray,, 
But gravissimO) solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 



9'i 



Ye are sae grave^ nae doubt ye're wise ; 
Nae ferly tW ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum ram-stam boys. 

The rattlin squad : 
1 see you upward cast your eyes — 

— Ye ken the road.— 

Whilst I — ^but I shall haud me there— » 
Wi* you ril scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, 1 shall say nae mair. 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi' You to mak a pair, 

Where'er I gang. 



w 



ADDRESS 

TO THE 

UNCO GUID, 

OR THE 

RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 



My soriy these Maxims make a rultf 

And lump them ay thegitheri 
The Rigid Righteous is afook 

The Rigid Wise anither : 

The cleanest corn that e^er was dight 

May hae somepyles o' caff* in ^ 
So ne'er a/elloW'Creature slight 

For random Jits & daffin. 

Solomon. — Eccles. ch. vli. ver. x6t 



I. 



OYe wha are sac guid yoursel, 
Sae pious and sae holy, 
YeVe nought to do but mark and tell 

Your Neebor's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill^ 

Supply'd wi' store o' water. 
The heapet happer's ebbing still, 
And still the lap plays clatter., 



95 



U. 



H^ar me, ye venerable Gore, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom^s door 

For glaikit Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences. 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes. 

Then: failings and mischances. 

IIL 

Ye see your state wl* their's compared. 

And shudder at the niffer. 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ. 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in. 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 



IV. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop ; 
Wi* wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way \ 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco lee-way. 



9^ 



See Social-life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

Debauchery and Drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded h-U to state, 

D-mnation of expences ! 

VI. 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces. 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names. 

Suppose a change o* cases ; 
A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug 

A treacherous inclination- 

But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

VII. 

Then gently scan your brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly daVk, 

The moving Why they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 



97 



VIIL 



Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord its various tone, 

Each spring its various bias : 

Then at the balance let's be mute. 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 




fl« 



TO A 



MOUSE, 



On turning her up in her N^st, with the Plougk, 
November, 1785. 



'^"iwvW' «9«a» ^*/nmi^^ 



WEE, sleekit, cowrm, tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ; ( 

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union. 
An' justifies that ill opinion. 

Which makes thee startlei 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

An^ fellow mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ! poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daimen icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 



99 



Thy wee bit hmtsiej too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ? 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

^' ^^gg^g^ green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell an' keen I 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste. 
And weary Winter comin fast. 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell. 
Till crash ! the cru^l'^ouUer past 

Out thro' thy cell. . 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble. 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble, 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving Jtn^esight may be vain : 
The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' MeUy 

Gang aft a-gly. 
An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain. 

For promis'd joy* 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me / 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e. 

On prospects drear. 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess zn'Jear / 

12 



100 



TO 



MISS L- 



WITH 



BEATTIE^s POEMS 

For a New-7/ear^s Gift. Jan. 1> 1787* 



AGAIN the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n^ 
And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime^ 
Are so much nearer Heav'n^ 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charg'd, perhaps too true ; 

But may, dear Maid, each Lover prove 
An JEdwin still to you* 



im 



TAM SAMSON'S* 
ELEGY. 



*^K><:>^<< 



An honesty marCs the noblest work of God. 

Pope. 



HAS auld K********* seen the Dell ? 
Or great M^*******f thrawn his heel ? 
Or R******* :j; again grown weel, 

To preach an' read ? 
« Na, waur than a' !" cries ilka chiel, 

*^ Tam Samson's de^idV* 

13 



* When this worthy old Sportfman went out laft muirfowl 
feafon, he fuppofed it was to be, in Offian's phrafe, " the laft of 
his fields ;" and exprelTed an ardent wifh to die and be buried in 
the muirs. On this hint the Author compofed his Elegy and 
Epitaph. 

f A certain Preacher, a great favourite with the Million. 
Vide the Ordination, page 8z. ftanza II. 

^ Another Preacher, an equal favourite with the Few, who 
was at that time ailing, For him fee alfo the Ordination, 
ilanza IX, 



102 

g[*##*#*#*# i3^g j^^y grunt an* grane, 
An^ sigh an^ sab, an' greet her lane, 
An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean^ 

In mourning weed j 
To Death, she's dearly paid the kane. 

Tarn Samson's dead f 

The Brethren of the mystic level 
May hing their head in wofu' bevel. 
While by their nose the tears will revel. 

Like ony bead j 
Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel. 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When Winter muffles up his cloak. 
And binds the mire like a rock, 
When to the loughs the Curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cocJc^ 

Tam Samson's dead ? 

He was the king o' a' the Core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore. 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time of need ; 
But now he lags on Death's hog-scorej 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately Sawmont sail. 
And Trouts bedropp'd wi crimson hail. 
And Eels weel ken'd for souple tail. 

And Geds for greed, 
Since dark in Death's Jlsh-creel we wail 

Tam Samson's dead ! 



IDS 

Rejoice ye birring Paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw ; 
Ye Maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, 

Withoutten dread j 
Your mortal fae is now awa^ 

Tarn Samson's dead f 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, 
While Pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed j 
But, Och ! he gaed and ne'er returned ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

In vain Auld Age his body batters j 
In vain the Gout his ancles fetters ; 
In vaia the burns came down like waters. 

An acre braid ! 
Now evVy auld wife, greetin, datters, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Owre mony a weary hag he Hmpit, 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger. 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger. 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed;: 
«< L— d, five I" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger i 

Tam Samson's dead ! 



104 

Hk hoary Hunter mourn'd a brltheri. 
Ilk Sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father ; 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether. 

Tarn Samson's dead! 

There, low he lies, in lasting rest y 
Perhaps upon his mouldering breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest. 

To hatch an' breed: 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wave. 
And Sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
Three voUies let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

HeaVn rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me : 
He had twa fauts, or may be three, 

Yet what remead f 
Ae social, honest man want we : 

Tam Samson's dead ! 



105 



THE EPITAPH. 



Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies^ 
Ye canting Zealots, spare him ! 

If Honest Worth in Heav'n rise, 
Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 



^ VH W W iW Utt 



PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, an* canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killiei* 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin^ 
For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg guUie, 

Tam S(mson*s livin^ 



♦ Killle is a phrafe the country-folks fometimes ufe for ybis 
aame of a certain town in the Weft 



106 



THE following POEM will, by many 
Readers, be well enough underftood ; but 
for the fake of thofe who are unacquaint- 
ed with the manners and traditions of the 
country where the fcene is caft^ Notes are 
added, to give fome account of the principal 
Charms and Spells of that Night, fo big 
with Prophecy to the Peafantry in the Weft 
of Scotland* The paffion of prying into 
Futurity makes a ftriking part of the Hiftory 
of Human Nature in its rude ftate, in all 
ages and nations j and it may be fome en- 
tertainment to a philofophic mind, if any 
fuch ftiould honor the Author with a perufal,. 
to fee the remains of it, among the more 
unenlightened in our own. 



107 



HALLOWEEN.* 



Yes ! let the Rich deride ^ the Proud disdairiy 
The sifnple pleasti7rs of the lo^ly train : 
To me more dear, co7igenial to my hearty 
One native charm, then all the gloss of art. 

Goldsmith. 



I. 



UPON that night, when Fairies light. 
On Cassilis Dawnans\ dance. 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, 

Beneath the Moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the CoveX, to stray an' rove 
Amang the rocks an' streams 

To sport that night* 

♦ Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, and other 
mifchief' making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight 
errands; particularly thofe aerial people, the Fairies, are faid, 
on that night, to hold a grand Anniverfary. 

t Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the ncigh« 
bourhood of the ancient feat of the Earls of Caffilis. 

^ A noted cavern near Colean-houfe, called the Cove of Co- 
lean ; which, as well as Caflilis Downans, is famed, in country 
ftory, for being a favourite haunt of Fairies. 



11. 

Amang the body, winding banks. 

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear, 
Where Bruce* ance ruFd the martial ranks, 

An' shook his Carrick spear. 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks. 

Together did convene. 
To burn their nits, an* pou their stocks. 

An baud their Halloween 

fvL blythe that night* 

III. 

The lasses feat, an* cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when theyVe fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu* sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal^ an* warm, an* kin' : 
The lads sae trig, wi* wooer babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten^ 
Some unco blate, an* some wi* gabs. 

Gar lasses hearts gang startin 

Whiles fast at night. 

IV. 

Then first and foremost, thro* the kail. 
Their stocks f maun a' be sought ance ; 

They steek their een, an* graip an' wale, 
For muckle anes and straught anes. 

♦ The famous family of that name, the anceftors of Robert, 
the great Ddtvera: of his Country, were Earls of Carrick. 

t The firft ' ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a Stoci^ 
or plant of kail.. They muft go out, hand in hand, with eyes 
flmt, and pull tlie firft they meet with : lt« being big or little^ 
ftraight or <:rooked, is prophetic of the foe and (hapc of the 



109 

Poor havVerWiU fell aff the drift, 
An' wander'd thro' the Bow-kail^ 

An' pow't, for want o' better shift, 
A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae iow't that night. 



Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane. 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee-things, todlin, rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther : 
An' gif the custoc*s sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've placed them 

To lie that night, 

VL 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a',- 

To pou their stalks o' corn*; 
But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
K 

grand objedt: of all their fpells — the hufband or wife. If any 
yird^ or earth, ftick to the root, that is tocher ^ or fortune ; and 
the tafte of the cujiocy that is, the heart of the ftem, is indicative 
of the natural temper and difpofition. Laftly, the ftems, or, to 
give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed forae- 
where above the head of the door ; and the Chriftian names of 
the people whom chance brings into the houfe, are, according to 
the priority of placing the runts^ the names in qucftion, 

* They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three fcveral 
times, a fkalk of Oats. If the third ftaik wants the top-pickUy 
that is, the grain at the top of the flalk, the party in quellion 
will come to the marriage-bed any thing but a Maid. 



110 

He grippet Nelly hard an' fast •, 
Loud skirPd a' the lasses ; 
' But her tap'picJcle maist was lost, 
When kiutlin in the Fause-house^ 

Wi' him that night. 

VII. 

The auld Guidwife's wheel-hoordet nits\ 

Are round an' round divided. 
An' monie lads and lasses fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side. 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride. 

And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

VIIL 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; 

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock^ an' this is mey 

She says in to hersel : 



♦ When the corn is in a doubtful date, by being too green, 
or wet, the flack-builder, by means of old timber, &c. makes 
a large apartment in his ftack, with an opening in the fide which 
is faireft expofed to the wind : this he calls a Faufe-houfe. 

f Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the lad 
and lafs to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire ; and 
accordingly as they burn quietly together, or fl:art from befide 
one another, the courfe and iflue of the Courtftiip will be* 



Ill 

He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part, 
Till fufF! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

IX. 

Poor Willie, wi' his ho*w-Jcail runty 

Was hunint wi' primsie Mallle ; 
An' Mary, na' doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, and swoor hyjing^ 

*Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 

X. 

Nell had the Fause-house in her min', 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join. 

Till white in ase they're sobbin ; 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view. 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't : 
Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't. 

Unseen that nighto 

XI. 

But Merran sat behint their backs. 
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 

She lea'es them gashin in their cracks. 
And slips out by hersel : 
K2 



112 

She thro* the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes tlien, 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks. 

And in the blue-clue^ throws then, 

Right fear't that night. 

XII. 

An' ay she wln^t, an^ ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin 5 
Till something held within the pat ; 

Guid L — d ! but she was quakin I 
But whether 'twas the Deil himself 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en'. 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night* 

XIIL 

Wee Jenny to her Graunie says, 

" Will ye go wi' me, Graunie ? 
«^ rU eat the f apple at the glass^ 

** I gat fra uncle Johnie :" 



♦ Whoever would, with fuccefs, try this fpell, muft ftriiflly 
obferve thefe diredions : Steal out, alone, to the i/V/;, and dark- 
h'ng, throw into the f>ot, a due of blue yarn ; wind it in a new 
clue off the old one ; and, towards the latter end, fomething will 
hold the thread ; demand, 'zvba bauds ? i. e. who holds ; and an- 
fwer will be returned from the kiln- pot, by naming the Chriflian 
name and Surname of your future Spoufe. 

f Take a candle, and go alone to a looking glafs ; cat an apple 
before it, and fome traditions fay, you fhould comb your hair all 
the time ; the face of your conjugal companion, to be^ will be feen 
in the glafs^ as if peeping over your fhouider. 



lis 

She fuff 't her pipe wi' sic a lunt. 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin. 
She notic'd na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro* that night. 

XIV. 

<« Ye little Skelpie-limmer's face ! 

" I daur you try sic sportin, 
«* As seek the foul Thief ony place, 

" For him to spae your fortune : 
«' Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

^« Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
«* For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 

" An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret, 

" On sic a night. 

XV. 

<* Ae Hairst afore the Sherra-muir, 

*^ I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
«* I was gilpey then, Fm sure 

" I was na past fyfteen : 
«« The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

<* An' stuff was unco green ; 
" An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

" And just on Hallo'-joeen 

« It fell that night. 

XVI. 

« Our Stibble-rig was Rab M^Graen, 

« A clever, sturdy fallow \ 
<« His Sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

<< That liv^d in Achmacalla ; 
K3 



114. 

«* He gat hemp-seed^ y I mind it weel, 

" An' he made unco light o't ; 
«< But monie a day was by himsely 

« He was sae sairly frighted 

<« That vera night.'^ 

XVIL 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience. 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense ; 
The auld guidman raught down the pock. 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Some time when nae ane see'd him. 

An' try't that night. 

XVIIL 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 
Tho' he was something sturtin ^ 

The graip he for a harrcm taks, 
An' haurls at his curpin : 



♦ Steal out, unpercclved, and fow a handful of hemp-feed 5 
harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after 
you. Repeat, now and then, " Hemp-feed I faw thee ; Hemp- 
feed I faw thee ; and him (or her) that is to be my true-love, 
come after me and pou thee.*' Look over your left flioulder, 
and you will fee the appearance of the perfon invoked, in the at- 
titude of pulling hemp. Some traditions fay, " Come after me, 
and fhaw thee," that is, (hew thyfelf; in which cafe, it limply 
appears. Others omit the harrowing, and fay, " Come after 
me, and harrow thee*** 



115 

An^ ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

" Hemp-seed I saw thee, 
« An' her that is to be my lass, 

« Come after me, and draw thee 

^ As fast this night." 



XIX. 

He whistPd up Lord Lenox' march^ 

To keep his courage cheary ^ 
Altho' his hair began to arch. 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeak. 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Out-owre that night. 



XX. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout. 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld came rinnin out> 

To hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M^Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' 5 

An' wha was it but Grumphze, 

Asteer that night I 



116 



XXI. 



Meg fain wad to the Barn hae gaen. 

To mnn three "wcchis o' naethins*: 
But for to meet the Deil her lane. 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the Herd a pickle nits. 

An' twa red cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets. 

In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 

That vera night. 

XXII. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw. 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca'. 

Syne bauldly in she enters : 
A ration rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd, L — d preserve her 1 
An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a' 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 



* This charm mull: llkewife be performed, unperceived, and 
alone. You go to the barrty and open both doors, taking them 
ofT the hinges, if poflible ; for there is danger, that the beings 
about to appear, may Ihut the doors, and do you fome mifchief. 
Then take that inftrument ufed in winnowing the corn, which, 
in our country diale^l, we call a ivecht ; and go through all the 
attitudes of letting down corn againfl the wind. Repeat it three 
times ; and, the third time, an apparition will pafs through the 
barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the 
figure in queftion, and the appearance or retinue, marking the 
employment or ilation in life. 



il7 



XXIIL 



They hoy't out Will, vfV sair advice ; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the Stack he faddomUt thrice* y 

"Was timmer-propt for thrawin j 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, 

For some black, grousome Carlin, 
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke> 

Till skin In blypes came haurlin 

Aff's nieves that night, 

XXIV. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As canty as a kittlen j 
But, Och ! that night, amang the shaws. 

She gat a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrivin, 
"Whare three Lairds^ lands met at a hurn\y 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in. 

Was bent that night. 



• Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Beer-stack^ 
and fathom it three times round. The laft fathom of the laft 
time, you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future 
conjugal yoke-fellow. 

f You go out, one or more, for this is a fecial fpell, to a fouth 
running fpring or rivulet, where " three Lairds lands meet," and 
dip your left fhirt fleeve. Go to bed in fight of a fire, and hang 
your wet ileeve before it to dry. Lie awake ; and, fome tim© 
near mid-night, an apparition, having the exadl figure of the 
grand objcd in queftion, wUl come and turn the fleeve, as if ta 
dry the ether fide of it. 



118 

XXV. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays. 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wrel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes. 

Below the spreading hazel. 

Unseen that night. 

XXVL 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The Deil, or else an outler Quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

XXVII. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane. 

The Luggies three* are ranged, 
And ev'ry time great care is ta'en, 

To see them duly changed : 



♦ Take three diflies ; put clean water in onCj foul water in 
another, leave the third empty; blindfold a perfon, and lead him 
to the hearth where the difhes are ranged; he (or lhe)^dips the left 



119 

Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin Mar's Year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice. 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

XXVIII. 

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary : 
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheery ; 
Till butter' d So'ns"^, wi' fragrant iunt. 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 



hand : if by chance in the clean water, the future hufband or wife 
will come to tho bar of Matrimony a maid ; if in the foul, a wi- 
dow ; if in the empty cilth, it foretels, with equal certainty, no mar- 
riage at all. It is repeated three times ; and every time the ar- 
rangement of the didies is altered. 

• Sowens, with butter inftead of milk to them, is always the 
Hallonveen Supper. 




120 



THE 



AULD FARMER'S 
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION 

TO HIS 

AULD MARE, MAGGIE, 

On ghlng her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to hansel in the New-Tear* 



AGuid Neixi-year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

I've seen the day. 
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide as white's a daisy, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glazie, 

A bonie gray : 
He shou'd been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A Jllly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' cou'd hae flown out-owre a stank, 

Like ony bird* 



121 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year. 
Sin thou was my Guid-father's Meere; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear. 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jennys 
Ye then was trottin wi' your Minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie. 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride. 
When ye bure hame my bonny Bride : 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ? 
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble. 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble. 
That day ye was a j inker noble. 

For heels an' win ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble, 

Far, far, behin'. 

When thou an' I were young an' skiegh. 
An' stable-meals at Fairs were driegh. 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh. 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, an* stood abiegh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 

L 



122 

When thou was corn't, an* I was mellow. 
We took the road ay like a Swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle. 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle \ 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle. 

An' gar't them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazle. 

Thou was a noble Fittie'lan\ 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han'. 

For days thegither, 

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fiU'd brisket, 

Wi' pith and pow'r. 
Till sprittie knows wad rair't and risket, 

An' slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
I gied thy cog 2l wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I kennM my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or Simmer* 



123 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it 5 
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit, 

Then stood to blaw 9 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't awa. 

My Pleugk IS now thy bairntime a* -, 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ^ 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst ; 
They drew me thretteen pund an' tvva, 

The vera warst. 

Monle a sair daurg we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought I 
An* monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty Servant 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my last^t^tc;, 
A heapet Sti?njparty I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

WeVe worn to crazy years thegither j 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether. 

To some hain'd rig, 
Where ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 
L2 



124 



WINTER NIGHT. 



=*<«4^a^O;^»^**^«=- 



Poor naked nxnretches^ ns^heresoe^er you are^ 
That bide the pelting of this pityless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads , and unfed sides y 
Your loop d and windowed raggednesSy defend yoUy 
From seasons such as these. — ■ 

Shakespeare* 



WHEN biting Boreasy fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bowV $ 
When Phoelrus gles a short-liv'd glow'r, 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky showV, 

Or whirling drift. 



Ae night the Storm the Steeples rocked. 
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
"While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked, 

"Wild-eddying swirl. 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurL 



125 

Listening, the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle. 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing^f . 
That, in the merry months o' Spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chitt'ring wing. 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev*n you on murd'ring errands toil'd. 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd. 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phcehe^ in her midnight reign. 
Dark muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still crouding thoughts, a pensive train. 

Rose in my soul. 
When on my ear this plaintive strain. 

Slow,' solemn, stole— 

«< Blow, blow, ye Winds, wkh heavier gust ! 
<^ And freeze, thou bitter-biting Frost ! 
" Descend, ye chilly, smothering Snows ! 
" Not all your rage, as now, united shows 
L3 



126 



" Mor^ hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
" Vengeful malice, unrepenting, 
« Than heav'n-illumin'd Man on brother Man 
<' bestows ! 
" See stern Oppression's iron grip, 
** Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
*< Sending like blood-hounds from the slip, 
i^ Woe, want, and murder, o'er a land ! 
*' Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
" Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
'^ How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, 
" The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
« With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
" Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide ^ 
^^ And eyes the simple rustic Hind, 

" Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
<< A creature of another kind, 
" Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 
<< Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below ! 
^^ Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
<^ With Lordly Honor's lofty brow, 
<^ The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
" Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
" Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

<^ To bless himself alone f 
<< Mark Maiden-innocence a prey 

*^ To love-pretending snares, 
*< This boasted Honor turns away, 
<« Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, • 
« Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! 
« Perhaps, this hour, in Mis'ry's squalid nest, ' 
« She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
« And with a Mother's fears, shrinks at the rocking 
« blast: 



127 

^* Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 

« Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
^< Think for a moment, on his wretched fate^ 
*^ Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 

^^ lU-satisfy'd, keen Nature's clamVous call, 

*« Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleeps 

^^ While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
*« Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap ! 
<« Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
«^ Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine I 
<« Guilt, erring Man, relenting view ! 
^' But shall thy legal rage pursue 
<^ The wretch, already crushed low, 
^^ By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? 
<< Affliction's sons are brothers in distress F 
" A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !" 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw. 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my rnind-^ 

Thro' all his works abroad, 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God* 




128 . 

EPISTLE 

TO 

DAVIE, 

A 

BROTHER POET. 

January-^ 

I. 

WHILE winds fra afF Ben-Lomond blaw. 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 
And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down, to pass the time. 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme. 

In hamely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in. the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the Great Folks' gift 
That live sae bien an* snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side : 
But hanker and canker. 
To see their cursed pride. 



129 



IL 



It's hardly in a body's pow'r. 

To keep, at times, frae being sour. 

To see how things are shar'd -, 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want. 
While Coofs an countless thousands rant. 

An' ken na how to wair't : 
But Daviey lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread. 
As lang's we're hale and fier : 
<« Mair spear na, nor fear na*,'* 

Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only but to beg, 

III. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a* 

Intended fraud or guile. 
However Fortune kick the ba*, 
Has ay some cause to smile. 

And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' j 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

♦ Ramfay, 



ISO 



IV. 



What tho', like Commoners of air. 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or ha' ! 
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to a'. 
In days when Daisies deck the ground. 

And Blackbirds whistle clear, 
Wi' honest joy our hearts will bound. 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit and sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time tlU't, 
And §ing't when we hae done. 

V. 

It's no In titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in makin muckle maiT; 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear. 

To mak us truly blest : 
If Happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast. 
We may be wise, or rich, or great. 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 

Could make us happy lang \ 
The heart ay's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang. 



131 

VL 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an* dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless. 

Of either Heav'n or Hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

VIL 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty Pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should Misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of Age to Youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses and crosses. 

Be lessons right severe. 
There's wit there, ye'U get there, 
Ye'U find nae other where. 



132 
/ 

vin. 

But tent me, Davie, Ace o' Hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 

And flatt'ry I detest,) 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches neVr could buy j 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the Pleasures d the Hearty 

The Lover an' the Frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me. 

To mention but her name; 
It heats me, it beats me. 
And sets me a* on flame ! 

IX. 

O, all ye Pow'rs who rule above 1 
O ThoUy whose very self art love I 

Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear Immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Beingy All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent pray'r ; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 



ISS 



X. 



All hall ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow ; 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had numbered out my weary days, 

Had it not been for yois ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend. 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens. 
The tenebrific scene. 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean. 

O, how that imine inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin, rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine. 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp. 

Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp. 
And rin an unco fit : 

But lest then, the beast then. 

Should rue his hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight now 
His sweaty, wizen'd hide, 

M 



134> 



TO A 



HAGGIS. 



FAIR fa* your honest, sonsie face, 
Great Chieftain o' the Puddin-race f 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm ; 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang's my airm. 



The groaning trencher there ye fill. 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need. 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 



His knife see Rustic labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi* ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like ony ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 



135 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swalFd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums , 
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout^ 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner. 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ! 

Poor devil ! see him o^vTe his trash, 
As feckless as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, 

His nieve a nit j 
Thro* bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fedy 
The trembling earth resounds his tread. 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade. 

He'll mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned. 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care. 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae stinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 
M2 



ON SEEING 

A WOUNDED HARE 

Lmp hy me, "which a Tellcm had just shot at. 



INHUMAN Man ! curse on thy barb'rous art. 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye \ 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigli^ 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart I 

Go live, poor warlderer of the wood and field. 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thick'ning brakes and verdant 
plains 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest> 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head. 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn> 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruiEan's aim, and mourn thy hapless 

fate. 



137 



THE 



COTTER'S 
SATURDAY NIGHT^ 

Inscribed to R. ^*^**5 Esq. 



Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear^ mth a disdainful smile. 
The short but simple annals of the Poor, 

Gray. 



MY lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! 
No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What A*^** in a Cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I 
ween ! 

MS 



isrs 
11. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh 5 

The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

TJiis night his weekly moil is at an end. 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes. 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 

III. 

At length his lonely Cot appears in view. 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree -, 
Th' expectant wee^thingSj toddlin, stacher through 

To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie Wifie^s smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil- 

IV. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in. 

At service out, amang the Farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny ^ woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom. Love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown. 

Or deposite her sair-won penny fee. 
To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship beo 



139 

V. 

Wi^ joy unfeignM brothers and sisters meet, 

An^ each for other's weel-fare kindly speirs x 
The social hours, swift-wing'd unnotic'd fleet ^ 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
The Parents, partial, eye their hopeful years j 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The Mother^ wl' her needle an' her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the ne^r \ 
Th« Father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

VI. 

Their Maister's an' their Mistress's command. 

The younkers a' are warned to obey j 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; 
<^ An^ O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

" An' mind your dutyy duly, morn an' night ! 
«< Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

'^ Implore his counsel and assisting might ; 
« They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord 
« aright." 

VII. 

But hark f a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jennyy wha kens the meaning o' the same. 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor. 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily Mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jennyh e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck anxious care, enquires his name. 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild, worth- 
less Rake. 



140 

VIIL 

W kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben \ 

A strappan youth \ he takes the Mother's eye \ 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en \ 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs and kye. 
The Youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 

But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave \ 
The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her hairrCs respected like the 
lave. 

IX, 

O happy love ! whei*e love like this is found ! 

O hearti-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare f 
I've paced much thi^ weary, mortal rounds 

And sage Experience bids me this declare — 
*< If Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare> 

" One cordial in this melancholy Vale, 
<^ *Tis when a youthful, loving, modest Pair, 

« In others arms breathe out the tender tale, 
« Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the 
ev'ning gale." 

X. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart^ — 

A Wretch ! a Villian ! lost to love and truth \ 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 

Betray sweet Jennyh unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are Honor, Virtue, Conscience, all exil'd ? 
Is there no Pity, no relenting Ruth ? 

Points to the Parents fondling o'er their Child? 
Then paints the fuin'd Maid, and their distraction 
wild! 



141 

XI. 

But now the Supper crowns their simple board. 

The halesome ParritcJi, chief o' Scotic^s food : 
The soupe their only Hawkie does afford 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The Dame brings forth in complimental mood. 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell. 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal Wifle, garrulous, will tell. 
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' Lint was i' the 
bell. 

XII. 

The cheerfu' Supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide •, 
The Sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha^-Bihley ance his Father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside j 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare y 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion giide. 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And " Let us worship God !" he says, with solemn 
air. 

XIIL 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise. 

Or plaintive Marfyrsy worthy of the name : 
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'n-ward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; 

The tickl'd ears nae heart-felt raptures raise i 
Nae unison hae they wi' our Creator's praise* 



142 



XIV. 

The priest-lIke Father reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the Friend of God on high 5 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal JBaf^d did groaning lye 

Beneath the stroke of Heav'n's avenging ire 5 
Or Job^s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah^ s wild seraphic fire j 
Or other Holy Seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

XV. 

Perhaps the Christian Volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed \ 
How Hey who bore in Heav'n the second name, 

Had not on Earth whereon to lay his head : 
How his first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land ; 
How he^ who lone in Patmos banished. 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great BaVlovUs doom pronounc'd by 
Heaven's command. 

XVI. 

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The SairUj the Father ^ and the Husband^ prays % 
Hope ^' springs exulting on triumphant wing*," 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There, ever bask in uncreated rays. 

No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise. 

In such society, yet still more dear •, 
While circling Time moves round in an eternal 
sphere. 

• Pope's Windfor Foreft. 



us 

XVIL 

Compared with this^ how poor Religion's pride. 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide. 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Paxd'i'y incens'd, the Pageant will desert. 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some Cottage far apart, 

May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the Soul^ 
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. 

XVIIL 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way j 

The youngling Cottagers retire to rest : 
The Parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request. 
That He^ who stills the raven's clam'rous nest. 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would in the way His Wisdom sees the best. 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts wi' Grace divine preside. 

XIX. 

From scenes like these, old Scotia^s grandeur springs. 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and Lords are but the breath of Kings, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of GoD :'* 
And certeSy in fair Virtue's heav'nly road. 

The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load. 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in arts of Hell, in wkkedness refin'd ! 



XX. 

O Scotia I O my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toll, 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! 
And, O ! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent 

From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous Populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd I$le. 

XXL 

O Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide 

That streamed thro' Wallace's undaunted heart 5 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The Patriot's Gody peculiarly thou art. 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; 

But still the Patriot^ and the Patriot^Bard^ 
In bright succession raise, her Ornament and Guard ! 






145 



T:HE 



LAMENT, 



OCCASIONED BT THR 



UNFORTUNATE ISSUE 



FRIEND'S AMOUR. 



Alas ! hem oft does Goodiiess wound itself! 
And sweet Affection prove the spring of Woe. 



Home. 



I. 



OThou pale Orb, that silent shines. 
While care-untroubled mortals $leep ! 
Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 

And wanders here to wail and weep 1 
With Woe I nightly vigils keep. 

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam ; 
And mourn in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 
N 



u& 



II. 



I joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked, distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn. 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still : 

Thou busy pow'r. Remembrance, ceas^ [ 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning Peace ? 



III. 

No idly-feign'd, poetic pains. 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested Pow'rs above ; 
The promised Father^ s tender name; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

IV. 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown ! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone. 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ! 



147 



Oh ! can she bear so base a heart. 

So lost to Honor, lost to Truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! Life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may He thro' rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 



VI. 

Ye winged Hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd morCj the more enjovM, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast. 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroyed, 

And not a Wish to gild the gloom ! 

VII. 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe ; 
I see the hours in long array. 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow, 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low. 

Shall kiss the distant, western main, 
N2 



U8 



VIII, 



And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-harrass'd out with care and grief. 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
Or if I slumber. Fancy, chief, 

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright ; 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief 

From such a horror-breathing nights 

IX. 

O ! thou bright Queen, who, o'er th' expanse, 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 

To mark the mutual kindling eye. 



X. 



Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale PU wander thro' ; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourji 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



149 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 



DIRGE. 



I. 



WHEN chill November's surly blast 
Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning as I wand'red forth 

Along the banks of Ayr^ 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 
And hoary was his hair. 



II. 



Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ! 

(Began the reverend Sage ;) 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain 3 

Or youthful Pleasure's rage i 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of man. 

NS 



150 



III. 



The Sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride -, 
Fve seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs. 

That Man was made to mourn. 



IV. 

O Man J while in thy early years. 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate Follies take the sway : 

Licentious Passions burn y 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law. 

That Man was made to mourn. 



Look not alone on youthful Prime, 

Or Manhood's active might 5 
Man then is useful to his kind. 

Supported is his right. 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With Cares and Sorrows worn, 
Then Age and Want, Oh ! ill-match'd pair ! 

Show Man was made to mourn. 



151 



VI. 



A few seem favourites of Fate, 

In Pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the Rich and Great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crowds in evVy land. 

Are wretched and forlorn. 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn. 

That Man was made to mourn. 

VII. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, Remorse, and Shame ! 
And Man, whose heav'n-erected face. 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to Man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

VIII. 

See yonder poor, o'erlaboiir'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly Jellow^worm 

The poor Petition spurn. 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife, 

And helpless offspring mourn. 



152 



IX. 



If Tm design^ yon lordling's slave. 

By Nature's law designed, 
Why was an inde|3cndent wish 

E'er planted in' my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has Man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 



Yet, let not this too much, my Son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man. 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had tliere not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

XL 

O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend. 

The kindest and the best J 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The Great, the Wealthy, fear thy blow. 

From pomp and pleasure torn j 
But, Oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



153 



WINTER, 



DIRGE. 



h 



THE Wintry West extends his blast, 
And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy North sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw \ 
While tumbling brown, the Burn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae 5 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 
And pass the heartless day. 



II, 



" The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,''* 

The joyless Winter-day, 
Let others fear, — to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May ; 

* Dr Young. 



154* 

The Tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join ; 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

IIL 

Thou Pernor Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they mtist be best. 

Because they are TTii/ Will ! 
Then all I want — (O, do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign^ 




155 



PRAYER 



PROSPECT OF DEATH. 



»e*ff*«)< 



!• 



OThou unknown, Almighty Cause 
Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 
Perhaps I must appear ! 



11. 



If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As Somethings loudly, in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 



156 

III. 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
With Passions wild and strong ; 

And listening to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

IV. 

Where human weakness has come short. 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 



Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other Plea I have. 
But, Thou art good; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



157. 



STANZAS 



ON THE 



SAME OCCASION. 



mt9e9&\^^\&999m 



WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene ! 
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy, with draughts of ill between : 

Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms : 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms \ 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 



Fain would I say, <^ Forgive my foul offence !" 

Fain promise never more to disobey \ 
But should my Author health again dispense. 

Again I might desert fair Virtue's way ; 
Again in Folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; 
Then how shall I for Heav'nly Mercy pray, 

Who act so counter Heav'nly Mercy's plan ? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? 

O 



158 



O Thou, Great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to thee. 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow. 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controuling powV assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong, furious passions to confine ; 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be. 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
Q, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine! 




159 



Lying at a Reverend Friends House one 
Nighty the Author left the following 
VERSES bi the Room xvhere he slept. 



OThou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ' 
I know Thou wilt me hear : 
When for this scene of peace and lovoi 
I make my prayV sincere. 

11. 

The hoary Sire— the mortal stroke. 
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ; 

To bless his little filial flock, 
And shew what good men are. 

III. 

She, who her lovely OfFspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O bless her with a Mother's joys, 

But spare a Mother's tears ! 

IV. 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush 5 
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish. 

02 



160 



V. 



The beauteous, seraph Sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray. 
Thou know' St the snares on ev'ry hand,, 

Guide Thou their steps alway. 

VL 

When soon or late they reach that coast. 
O'er life's rough ocean driv'n. 

May they rejoice, no wandVer lost, 
A family in Heav'n ! 




161 



PRAYER 

Under the Pressure of Violent Anguish. 



^C^H»®^ 



OThou great Being ! what thou art 
Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 
Are all Thy works below. 



Thy creature here before Thee stands, 
AH wretched and distrest •, 

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
Obey Thy high behest. 



Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 



But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then, man my soul with firm resolves 

To bear and not repine ! 

03 



lea 



EPISTLE 



TO A 



YOUNG FRIEND. 

May J 786. 



\Q^nmmm 



I. 



I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 
A Something to have sent you, 
Tho* it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento; 
But how the subject theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ! 
Perhaps, it may turn out a Sang i 
Perhaps, turn out a Sermon. 



IL 



Ye'U try the world soon, my lad. 

And Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye'U find mankind an unco squad. 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained 5 
And a' your views may come to nought. 

Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 



165 



m. 



FD no say, men are villains a' v 

The real, harden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law. 

Are to a few restricked : 
But Och, mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If Self the wavering balance shake. 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 



IV. 

Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife. 

Their fate we would na censure. 
For still th' important ejid of life. 

They equally may answer : 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' Poortith hourly stare him , 
A man may tak a neebor's part. 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

V. 

Ay free, afF han', your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Fra critical dissection •, 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection. 



16i. 

VL 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it : 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it : 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard o' concealing ; 
But Och ! it hardens a' within. 

And petrifies the feeling I 

VII. 

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile. 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justify'd by Honor : 
Not for to hide it in a hedge> 

Nor for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent 

VIII. 

The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip> 

To haud the wretch in order •, 
But where ye feel your Honor grip, 

Let that ay be your border : 
It's slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretences : 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 



165 

IX. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature i 
But still the preaching cant forbear^ 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er wi' Wits profane to range. 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Athiest-laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended ! 



When ranting round in Pleasure's ring^ 

Religion may be blinded^ 
Or if she gie a random stingy 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on Life we're tempest-driven, 

A Conscience but a canker-^- 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n^ 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 



XI. 



Adieu, dear, amiable Youth f 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May Prudence, Fortitude, and Truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed,"^ 

Still daily to grow wiser -, 
And may ye better reck the rede^ 

Than ever did th' Adviser, 



166 



DEDICATION 



TO 



Q#*### JJ#*##### J|gQ^ 



EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication, 
I'o roose you up, an' ca' you guid. 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid. 
Because ye're sirnatn'd like His Graccy 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when Fm tir'd — and sae are ^e 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie,. 
Set up a face, how I stopt short. 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 



This may do — maun do. Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the Great Folk for a wamefou ; 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow. 
For Lord be thankit, I can ploughs 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, lean beg! 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, 
It's just sic Poety an' sic Patron^ 



167 

The Poet, some guid Angel help him. 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him. 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet. 
But only he's no just begun yet» 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me) 
On ev'ry hand it will allowed be, 
He's just — ^nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant. 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it. 
What aince he says he winna break it ; 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n thaty he does na mind it lang : 
As Master, Landlord, Husband, Father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that ; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naething but a milder feature. 
Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt Nature : 
Ye'U get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi^ 
Wha never heard of Orthodoxy, 
That he's the poor man's friend in need. 
The Gentleman in word and deed. 
It's no thro' terror of Damnation j 
It's just a carnal inclination. 



16a 



Morality, thou deadly bane. 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
In moral Mercy, Truth, and Justice ! 



No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse. a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a mnnock frae^ a wh~re, 
But point the Rake that taks the door; 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane. 
And haud their noses to the grunstane : 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 



Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, an* lang wry faces ; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthened groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own j 
rU warrant then, ye're nae Deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch Believer. 



O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv^n^ 
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of Heresy and Error, 
Ye'U some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath. 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
"When Ruin, with his sweeping besoniy 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him : 
While o'er the Harp pale Mis'ry moans. 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks^ and heavier groans ! 



169 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my Dedication; 
But when Divinity comes cross me. 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour. 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
"When 2! my works I did review. 
To dedicate them, Sir, to You : 
Because (ye need na tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronize them wl' your favour, 

And your petitioner shall ever 

I had amaist said, ever pray^ 

But that's a word I need na say : 

For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 

I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't ; 

But Tse repeat each poor man's prai/r^ 

That kens or hears about you. Sir 

^^ May ne'er Misfortune's growling bark, 
" Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 
<^ May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
^' For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
<« May K^^^^^'^'s far honored name 
<^ Lang beet his hymenial flame, 
« Till H******% at least a dizen, 
" Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
<^ Five bonnie Lasses round their table, 
<« And seven braw Fellows, stout an' able, 
" To serve their King and Country weel, 
<« By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 

P 



170 



« May Health and Peace, with mutual rays, 
<« Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; 
«^ Till his wee, curlie John^s ier-oe, 'I 

*^ When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, > 

<^ The last, sad, mournful rites bestow." j 



I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours. 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, Dear Sir, with zeal most fervent. 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Powers above prevent) 
That iron-hearted carl, Wdntj 
Attended in his grim advances. 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
Your humble sef^vant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the Poor f 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n ! 
While recollection's pow'r is giv'n. 
If, in the vale of humble life. 
The victim sad of Fortune's strif^, 
I thro' the tender gushing tear, \ ^ 

Should recognize my Master dear, 
If friendless, low, we meet together. 
Then, Sir, your hand, — my Friend and Brother ! 



Ill 



TO 



RUIN. 






L 



ALL hail ! inexorable lord ! 
At whose destruction-breathing word. 
The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train. 
The ministers of Grief and Pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tye^ 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'ring, and pouring. 

The Storm no more I dread \ 
Tho' thickening, and black'ning^ 
Round my devoted head* 

P2 



172 



11. 



And thou grim PowV, by Life abhorr'd. 
While Life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid •, 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid ; 

To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign Life's joyless day j 
My weary heart its throbbings cease. 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ; 
No fear more, no tear more, 

To stain my lifeless face> 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 




173 



TO A 



MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

On turning one down with the Plough^ 
in Aprils 1786. 



WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flowV, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem, 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r. 

Thou bonnie gem. 



Alas ! its no thy neebor sweet. 
The bonnie LarJcy companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi' spreckFd breast. 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling East^ 



174 

Cauld blew the bltter-biting North 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm. 
Scarce rear'd above the Parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our Gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield j 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-field^ 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad. 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread. 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise •> 
But now the share uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet jfto*isfret of the rural shade ! 
By Love's simplicity betray'd. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd F 
Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent Lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. 

And whelm him o'er I 



175 

Such fate to suffhing Worth is giv^n. 
Who long wi' wants and woes has striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driven 

To Mis'r/s brink, 
Till wrenched of ev'ry stay but Heav'rij 

He, ruined, sink \ 



Ev*n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate. 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight. 

Shall be thy doom \ 




176 



ON A 



SCOTCH BARD, 



Gone to the West Indies^ 



A 5 Ye wha live by soups o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
A* ye wha live and never think, 

Come mourn wi' me ! 
Our billie^s gien us a' a jink. 

An* owre the Sea. 



Lament him a' ye rantia core, 
Wha dearly like a random -splore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roary 

In social key ! 
For now he's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the Sea ! 



177 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him : 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him : 

Wi' tearfu' e'e j 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the Sea» 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou taen aiF some drowsy bummle, 
Wha can do npught but fyke an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg as ony wumble. 

That's owre the Sea ! 

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear. 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear •, 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear. 

In flinders flee : 
He was her Laureat monie a year. 

That's owre the Sea ! 

He saw Misfortune's cauld Nor-wesi 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A Jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a birth afore the mast. 

An' owre the Sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock, 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach. 

Could ill agree ^ 
So, row't his hurdles in a hammochy 

An' owre the Sea. 



178 

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi* him it ne'er was under hidings 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in. 

That's owre the sea* 

Jamaica bodies^ use him weel. 
An' hap him in a co^ie biel : 
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, 

And fou o' glee : 
He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, 

That's owre the Sea* 

Fareweel, my rhyme^composing billie i 
Your native soil was right ill-wilHe ! 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the Sea I 




179 



FIRST PSALM, 



^©•^«-®<; 



THE man, In life where-ever plac'd. 
Hath happiness In store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 
Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of Scornful Pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
But with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high. 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And, like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest ; 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



180 



THE 



FIRST SIX VERSES 



NINETIETH PSALM. 



a'^^'5^v^^^^'^^'V^'^'^c 



OThou, the first, the greatest friend 
Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right-hand has ever been 
Their stay and dwelling-place ! 



Before the mountains heavM their heads 
Beneath Thy forming hand, 

Before this ponderous globe itself. 
Arose at Thy command ; 



That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 



Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, Man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

^« Return ye into nought !" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares. 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flowV, 

In beauty's pride array'd : 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All withered and decay'd. 



Q 



182 



ADDRESS 



TO 



EDINBURGH. 



•♦oo«« 



I. 



EDINA ! Scotia's darling seat ! 
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a Monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs. 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 
I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



11. 



Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendor rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies. 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 



185 



III. 



Thy Sons, Edi7iay social, kind. 

With open arms the Stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarged, their lib'ral mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail. 

Or modest Merit's silent claim : 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

IV. 

Thy Daughters bright thy walks adorn, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Pair B strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine j 
I see the Sire of Love on high. 

And own his work indeed divine ! 

V. 

There watching high the least alarms. 

Thy rough rude Fortress gleams afar ; 
Like some bold Vet'ran, gray in arms. 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar ! 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar. 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; 
Have oft withstood assailing War, 

And oft repell'd the Invader's shock. 

Q2 



-1«4 



VL 



With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears^ 

I view that noble, stately Dome, 
"Where Scotia^s kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home i 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 

Their Royal Name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless Race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid Law cries out, 'twas just ! 

VIL 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia'^ bloody Lion bore 5 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply, 7711/ Sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar. 

Bold-following where your Fathers led \ 

VIIL 

EdiTia! Scotia^ s darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
Where once beneath a Monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs. 

As on the banks of Ap- I stray'd. 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



185: 



THE 



JOLLY BJ^GGARS;^ 



TATTERDEMALLIONS. 



A CANTATA. 



RECITATIVO. 

WHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird. 
Or wavering like the Bauckie bird% 
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skvte* 
An' infant frosts begin to bite, 
In hoary cranreugh drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 

O' randie, grangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore. 
To drink their orra duddies : 

Wi' quaffing an' laughing, 

They ranted and they sang : 
Wi' jumping an' thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 
O 3 

* The old Scotch name for the Ejit, 



186 

First, neist the fire, in jiuld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags. 

An' knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm> 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm, 
She blinket on her sodger y 
An' ay he gies the tozie drab 
The tither skelpin kiss. 
While she held up her greedy gab. 
Just like an aumos dish. 

Ilk smak still, did crack still> 

Just like a cadger's whip. 
Then staggering an' swaggering,. 
He roar'd this ditty up — 

AIR. 

Tune — Soldkr^s Joy* 

I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the 
drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd 

his last, 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of 

Abram ; 
I served out my trade when the galjant game was 

play'd. 
And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum» 

Lai de daudle^ &c« 



187 



I lastly was with Curtlsj among the floating batt^riesa 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb j 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me> 
rd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



And now, tho' I must beg with a wooden ai-m and 

leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
Fm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet^ 
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c.. 



What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter 

shocks. 
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home. 
When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum, 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, 

Aboon the chorus roar 5 
While frighted rattons backward leuk^ 

An' seek the benmost bore : 
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. 

He skirl'd out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

Ajn' laid the loud uproar. 



188 

AIR. 

Tune — Soldier Laddie. 

J ance was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when^ 
And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder Fm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade. 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade j 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch. 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church : 
He ventured the soul^ and I risked the bodily 
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot. 
The regiment at" large for a husband I got : 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair. 
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair j 
His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy. 
My heart it rejoiced at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 



189 

And now I have liv'd — I Know not how long. 
And still I can join in a cup or a song •, 
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady 
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie* 

Sing, Lai de lal, &€• 

RFXITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk. 

Sat guzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; 
They mind't na wha the chorus took. 

Between themselves they were sae busy. 
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, 

He stoiter'd up an' made a face ; 
Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzy, 

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace* 

AIR. 

Tune — Auld Sir Symon^ 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session , 
He's there but a prentice I trow, 

But I am a fool by profession. 

My Grannie she bought me a beuk^ 

An' I held awa to the school \ 
I fear I my talent misteuk, 

But what will ye hae of a fool. 

For drink I would venture my neck, 

A hizzie's the half of my craft \ 
But what could ye other expect 

Of ane that's avowedly daft^ 



190 

I ance was ty'd up like a stirk. 
For civilly swearing an' quafKng ; 

I ance was abus'd i' the kirk, 
For towzing a lass i' my dafEn. 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport. 
Let naebody name wi' a jeer ; 

There's ev'n, I'm tauld i' the court, 
A Tumble}^ ca'd the Premier. 



Observ'd ye yon reverend lad 
Mak faces to tickle the mob 5 

He rails at our mountebank squad, 
It's rivahhip just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I'll tell, 
For faith I'm confoundedly dry, 

The chiel that's a fool for himsel, 
Guid L — d, he's far dafter than L 



RECITATIVO* 

Then neist outspak a raucle-carlin, 
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
For mony a pursie she had hooked. 
And had in mony a well been ducked. 
Her Dove had been a Highland laddie, 
Put weary fa' the waefu' woodie ! 
Wi' sighs an' sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman^. 



191 

AIR. 

Tune — O an^ ye were dead Guidman* 

A Highland lad my love was born. 
The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was faithfu' to his clan. 
My gallant bra' John Highlandman. 

CHORUS. 

Sing, hey my bra' John Highlandman ! 
Sing, ho my bra' John Highlandman ! 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman ! 

Wi' his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
An' guid claymore down by his side. 
The ladies hearts he did trepan. 
My gallant bra' John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lalland face he feared nane. 
My gallant bra' John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea. 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran. 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 



192 

But, oh ! they catch*d him at the last. 
An' bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My cursre upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my bra' John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &€• 



And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
Nae comfort but a hearty cann. 
When I think on John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey my bra' John Highlandman ! 
Sing, ho my bra' John Highlandman ! 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman. 



RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy Scraper wi' his fiddle, 
Wha us'd at trysts an' fairs to driddle. 
Her strappan limb an' gaucy middle 

(He reach'd nae higher,) 
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e. 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an Arioso key. 

The wee Apollo, 
Set ofFwi' Allegretto glee 

His giga soloe 



19S 

AIR. 

Tune — Whistle awre the lave dt. 

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 
An' go wi' me an' be my dear. 
An' then your ev'ry care an' fear. 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade. 
An' a' the tunes that e'er I pla/d, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid. 
Was whistle owre the lave o't. 

At kirns an' weddings we'se be there. 
An' O ! sae nicely's we will fare j 
We'll bouse about till Daddie Care 
Sing whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke. 
An' sun ourselves about the dyke. 
An' at our leisure, when ye like 
We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms. 
An' while I kittle hair on thairms. 
Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms. 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 
R 



194 



RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird, 

As weel as poor Gut-scraper ! 
He taks the Fiddler by the beard, 

An' draws a rusty rapier. — 
He swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he wad frae that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi* ghastly e'e, poor Tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended. 
An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face. 

An' sae the quarrel ended. 
But tho' his little heart did grieve. 

When round the Tinker prest her. 
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, 

When thus the Caird address'd her. 



AIR. 

Tune — Clout the Caudron. 

My bonny lass, I work in brass, 

A tinker is my station ; 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground. 

In this my occupation. 
I've ta'eu the gold, I've been enroU'd 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 

To go an' clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 



195 

Despise that shrimp, that with«r'd Imp, 

Wi' a' his noise an' caprin, 
An' tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget an' the apron. 
An' by that stoup ! my faith an' houpe. 

An' by that dear * Keilbaigie, 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie. 

An' by that stoup, &c. 

RECITATIVO, 

The Caird prevail'd — th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair. 

An' partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino wi' an air. 

That show'd a man o' spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair. 

An' made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night. 

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie. 
The fiddler rak'd her fore an* aft, 

Behint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' f Homer's craft, 

Tho' limpin wi' the spavie. 
He hirpled up, an' lap like daft, 

An' shor'd them Dainty Davie 

O boot that night. 
R2 

• A peculiar fort of Whilky fo called ; a great favourite with 
Poofie-Nanfie's clubs. 

t Homer is allowed to be the oldeft ballad-finger on record. 



196 

He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid> 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish but — to be glad, 

Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
He hated nought but — to be sad. 

An' thus the muse suggested 

His sang that night. 

AIR. 

Tune — For a! thaty arU cH that* 

I am a bard of no regard, 

Wi' gentle fouks, an' a' that ; 
But Homer-like^ the glowran byke, 

Frae town to town Idraw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, an' a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a' that \ 

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin*, 
I've mfe enough for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank, 

Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; 
But there it streams, an' richly reams. 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair. 
Their humble slave, an' a' that \ 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, Sec. 



197 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

Wi' mutual love, an' a' that ; 
But for how lang \\\q Jlee may stang^ 

Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft. 
They've ta'en me in, an' a' that •, 

But clear your decks, an' here's the sex ! 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For a' that, an' a' that. 

An' twice as muckle's a' that ; 

My dearest hluid^ to do them guid, 
They're welcome til't, for a' that. 



RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — an' Nansie's wa's 
Shook wi' a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo'd from each mouth \ 
They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds, 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, 

To quench their lowan drouth. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 

The poet did request. 
To lowse his pack an' wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best : 
He, rising, rejoicing 

Between his twa Deborahsy 
Looks round him, and found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 
R3 



198 

AIR. 

Tune — Jolly MortaUJillyovT Glasses. 

See the smoaking bowl before us, 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up the chorus, 

And in raptures let us sing. 

CHORUS. 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

JLiherty^ a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected. 

Churches built to please the priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Ti§ no matter hem or ixihere ! 
A fig, &Ce 

With the ready trick and fable. 
Round we wander all the day j 

And at night, in barn or stable. 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carnage 
Thro' the country lighter rove ! 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love ! 
A fig, &c. 



199 

Life is all a variorum^ 

We regard not how it goes % 
Let them cant about decoruniy 

Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets f 
Here's to all the wandVing train ! 

Here's our ragged brats and callets I 
One and all cry out. Amen ! 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Idberti/s a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the priest* 



200 



TO A 



LOUSE, 

On seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church. 



HA ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie, 
Your Impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace \ 
Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 



Ye ugly, creepin, bias tit wonner. 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner. 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a Lady \ 
Gae somewhare else and seek your dinner. 

On some poor body. 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 



201 

Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight. 
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it. 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out. 
As plump and gray as onie grozet j 
O for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
Fd gie you sic a hearty doze o't. 

Wad dress your droddum* 

I wad na been surprised to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fie, 

How daur ye do't I 

O, Jenny^ dinna toss your head. 
An' set your beauties a' abread ; 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin ! 
Thae mriks and Jinger-endsy I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us. 
To see ourselves as others see us s 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us. 

And ev'n devotion ! 



202 



THE 



CALF. 



To rHE Ref. Mr 



On his Text, Malachi, ch. iv. ver. 2. 

^ A?JD THEY SHALL GO FORTH, AND GROW UP, LIKE 
CALCES OF THE STALL." 



RIGHT Sir ! your text Til prove it true, 
Though Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there's yoursel just now, 
God knows, an unco Calf/ 

And should some Patron be so kind. 

As bliss you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a Stii^L 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry heav'nly Pow'r, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 



203 

Tho*, when some kind, connubial Dear, 

Your but-and-ben adorns, 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most reverend J 

To hear you roar and rowte. 

Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 
To rank amang the nawte. 

And when ye're number'd wi* the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi* justice they may mark your head — 

«< Here lies a famous Bullock /" 




204 



EXTEMPORE VERSES, 



ON 



DINING WITH LORD DAER. 

Mossgzel, October 25th. 



••«»^l^^Idaoa« 



THIS wot all ye whom it concerns, 
I, rhymer Rab, alias Burns, 
October twenty-third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprachl'd up the brae, 
I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 



I've been at druken Writers' feasts ; 
Nay, been bitch fou 'mang godly Priests ; 

(Wi' rev'rence be it spoken !) 
I've even join'd the honor'd jorum. 
When mighty Squireships o' the Quorum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 



205 

But wl* a LoRD^. — stand out my shin ! 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's Son — 

Up higher yet my bonnet ! 
An' such a Lord — lang Scotch ell twa •, 
Our Peerage he looks o'er them a'. 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But, O ! for Hogarth's magic pow'r, 
To shew Sir Bardie's willy art glowr, 

An' how he star'd an' stammer'd ! 
When goavan's he'd been led wi' branks. 
An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks. 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 

To meet good Stuart little pain is, 
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes, 

Thinks I, they are but men ! 
But Burns, my Lord — Guid G-d ! I doited ! 
My knees on ane anither knoited, 

As faultering I gaed ben ! 

I sidling shelter'd in a neuk, 
An' at his lordship staw a leuk, 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except GOOD SENSE, ail' SOCIAL glee. 
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great. 

The GENTLE pride, the LORDLY STATE^ 

The arrogant assuming •, 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he. 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 

Mair than an honest Ploughman. 
S 



206 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn. 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern, 

One rank as well's another ; 
Nae honest, worthy man need care. 
To meet wi* noble, youthfu' Daer, 

For he but meets a Brother. 



DEAR SIR, 

I never fpent an afternoon among great folks 
with that pleafure as when in company with you. I had the 
honor of paying my devoirs to that plain, honeft, worthy man, 
the ProfeiTor. I would be delighted to fee him perform ads of 
kindnefs and friendfhip, though I were not the objedl, he does 
it with fuch a grace. — I think his charader, divided into ten 
parts, ftands thus — four parts Socrates—four parts Nathaniel— 
and two parts Shakespeare's Brutus. 

The foregoing verfes were really extempore, but a 
little corrected fmce. They may entertain you a little, with 
the help of that partiality with which you are fo good as to 
favor the performances of, 

lyear S'lr^ 

Your very bumble Servant^ 

ROBERT BURNS. 

JVednesday morning* 



207 
ADDRESS 



TOOTH-ACHE. 

(Written hy the Author at a time xnlien he "sas 
grievously torjneyited by that Disorder.) 



«=»a^sj<K\SX\\VC\\^^^»^« 



MY curse on your envenom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortar'd gums alang, 
An' thro* my lugs gies mony a bang 

Wi* gnawin vengeance \ 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter twang, 

Like racking engines. 

A' down my beard the slavers trickle, 
I cast the wee stools owre the meikle, 
While round the fire the havVels keckle. 

To see me loup \ 
I curse an' ban', an' wish a heckle 

Were i' their doup. 

Whan fevers burn, or agues freeze us, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeeze us. 
Our Jieebors sympathize, to ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ^ 
But thou — the hell o' a' diseases. 

They mock our groan. 
S2 



208 

O' a* the num'rous human dools, 
111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-ziooh^ 
Or worthy friends laid i' the mools, 

Sad sight to see f 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools. 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Whare'er that place be, priests ca' hell, 
Whare a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, 
An' plagues in ranked number tell 

In deadly raw, 
Thou^ Tooth- Ache^ surely bear'st the bell 

Aboon them a' ! 

O ! thou grim mischief-makin chiel. 
That gars the no^es o' discord squeel, 
Till human«ldnd aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe thick, 
Gie a' the faes o* Scotland's weal 

A towmond's tooth-ache. 



, .*«•>».•/, #>«*«« .v»W^'/,, 



EXTEMPORE. 

Written in Answer to a Card from an intimate of 
BuRNs's wishing him to spend an Hour at a 
Tavern with him^ 

THE King's most humble servant, I 
Can scarcely spare a minute \ 
But I'll be wi' ye by an' by ; 
Or else the DeiFs be in it. 



209 



THE 



KIRK'S ALARM.* 



A SATIRE. 



-«*«*<«^'3l^»^?o^»>^— 



ORTHODOX, orthodox, wha believe in John 
Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; 
There's a heretic blast has been blawn i* the wast, 
That what is no sense must be nonsense. 

Dr Macjf Dr Mac, you should stretch on a rackj 

To strike evil doers wi' terror ; 
To join faith and sense upon ony pretence, 

Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad I declare, 

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 
Provost John is still deaf to the church's relief. 

And orator Bob J is its ruin, 
S3 



* This Poem was written a Ihort time after the publication 
^fDrM' Gill's Effay. 

t Dr M^Glli. \ R 1 A«-k-B. 



210 

Drymple mild/ Drymple mild, tho' yaur heart's like 
a child, 

And your life like the new driven snaw, 
Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, 

For preaching that three's ane and twa. 

Rumble John,f Rumble John, mount the steps wi' 
a groan. 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd , 
Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adie. 

And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James4 Simper James, leave the fair Killie 
Dames, 

There's a holier chace in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'U soon lead. 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawney,§ Singet Sawney, are ye herding the 
penny. 

Unconscious what evils await ; 
Wi' a jump, yell and howl, alarm every soul, 

For -the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld,|| Daddy Auld, there's a tod in the 
fauld, 

A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; 
Tho' ye can do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death, 

And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 

* Dr D— m— le. f Mr R-ff-lI. i Mr M*K-^y, 

§ Mr M^y, 11 Mr A— d 



211 



Davre Bluster,* Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do 
muster. 

The corps is no nice o' recruits -, 
Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast. 

If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamy Goose,f Jamy Goose, ye hae made but toom 
roose. 

In hunting the wicked Lieutenant j 
But the Doctor's your mark, for the L — d's haly ark^ 

He has cooper'd and caw'd a wrang pin in't. 

Poet Willie,:}: Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volly, 
Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit \ 

O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride. 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t. 



Andro Gouk,§ Andro Gouk, ye may slander the 
book, 

And the book not the waur, let me tell ye ; 
Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig, 

And ye'U hae a calf's head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steennie,|| Barr Steennie, what mean ye? what 
mean ye ? 

If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter. 
Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense, 

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

• Mr G 1 of O— 1— e. t Mr Y— g of C-^-k. 

t Mr P— b— 8 of A— r. § Dr A. M— IL 
II Mr S ^n Y— — g of B r. 



212 

Irvine side,* Irvine side, wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
Of manhood but sma' is your share ; 

YeVe the figure, 'tis true, ev'n your faes will allow, 
And your friends they dare grant ye nae mair. 

Muirland Jock,f Muirland Jock, when the L— d 
makes a rock 

To crush common sense for her sins, 
If ill manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor Doctor at ance, 

Holy Will,:}: Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull, 
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor ; 

The timmer is scant, when ye're ta'en for a saint, 
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your spiritual guns, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stufi^, will be powther enough, 

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping 
turns. 

Why desert ye your auld native shire •, 
Your muse is a gypsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie^ 

She cou^d ca' us na waur than we are. 

• Mr S— — h of G— n. t Mr S . . d. 

I An Elder in M— — e> 



213 



THE 



TWA HERDS; 



HOLY TOOLZIE.'' 



OA' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox. 

Or worrying tykes, 
Or wha will t^nt the waifs and crocks, 

About the dykes. 

The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty summers past, 

O ! dool to tell, 
Hae had a Bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 

O, M ^y, man, and wordy R 11, 

How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle. 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle. 

Sin' 1 hae min'. 



* This piece was among the firft of our Author *s produ<5lions 
which he fubmitted to the public : and was occafioned by a dif* 
putc between two clergymeu, near Kilmarnock. 



2U 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expekit, 

Your duty ye wad sae neglekit, 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respekit. 

To wear the plaid. 
But by the brutes themselves elekit. 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi* M ^y's flock could rank, 

Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd soor Arminian stank, 

He let them taste, 
Frae Calvin's well, ay clear, they drank, 

O' sic a feast ! 

The thummart, willcat, brock and tod, 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smeird their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in. 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid. 

And sell their skin* 

What herd like R ^11 telFd his tale. 

His voice was heard thrp' muir and dale. 
He kend the Lord's sheep ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height. 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 

Or nobly fling the gospel club. 

And new-light herds could nicely drub. 

Or pay their skin. 
Could shake them o'er the burning dub, 

Or heave them in. 



215 

Sic twa, O ! do I live to see't. 
Sic famous twa should disagreet. 
And names, like villain, hypocrite. 

Ilk ither gi'en. 
While new-light herds wi' laughin spite, 
- Say neither's liein. 

f A* ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 

There's D ^n deep, and P s, shaul, 

But chiefly thou, apostle A — d. 

We trust in thee. 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld. 

Till they agree. 

Consider Sirs, how weVe beset, 
There^s scarce a new herd that we get. 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set, 

I winna name, 
I hope frae heav'n to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

D e has been lang our fae, 

M^ 11 has wrought us meikle wae. 

And that curs'd rascal ca'd M« e, 

And baith the S 

That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld W w , lang has hatch'd mischief. 

We thought ay death wad bring relief. 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chield wha'U soundly bufFour beef; 

I meikle dread him. 



216 

And monle a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forby turn-coats amang oursel. 

There's S — ^h for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey nick quill. 

And that ye'U fin'. 

O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills. 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. 

Come join your counsel and your skills. 

To cow the lairds. 
And get the brutes the power themsells. 

To choose their herds. 

Then orthodoxy yet may prance. 
And learning in a woody dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd common-sense. 

That bites sae sair. 
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France, 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and Dalrymple's eloquence, 

M^ ^ll's close nervous excellence, 

M^Q — e's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M^ h, 

Wi' S — th, wha thro' the heart can glance. 

May a' pack aff. 



>#' 



217 



EPISTLE 



TO 



J. LAPRAIK, 

AN OLD SCOTCH BARD. 

April 1, 1785. 



»€KK-€>€ 



WHILE briers an' woodbines budding green, 
An' Paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning Poussie whidden seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom, in an wiknawn frien', 

I pray excuse. 



On Fasten-een we had a rockin. 
To ca' the crack, and weave our stockin ; 
And there was muckle fun an' jokin. 

Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokin 

At sang about. 

T 



^18 

There was te sangy amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best. 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the hfe. 

I've scarce heard ought described sae weel. 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

" Or Seattle's wark !'* 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About MuirkirJc. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't. 
And sae about him there I spier't. 
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd 

He had inginef 
That nane excelled it, few cam near't. 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint o' ale. 
An' either douce or merry tale. 
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel. 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith. 
Or die a cadger-pownie's death. 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith, 

To hear your crack. 



219 

But first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough. 
Yet crooning to a body's sel. 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae Poetj in a sense. 
But just a JEthymer^ like, by chance, 
An' hae to Learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter ? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

1 jingle at her. 

Your Critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
*^ You wha ken hardly verse frae prose^ 

«< To mak a sang f"* 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye^re may be wrang. 

What^s a' your jargon o' your Schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools^ 

What sairs your Grammars ? 
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and shools. 

Or knappin-hammers ? 

O set o' dull, conceited Hashes, 
Confuse their brains in College classes ! 
They gang in Stirks, and conie out Asses, 

Plain truth to speak ^ 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus, 

By dint o' Greek I 
T2 



220 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire^ 
That's a' the learning I desire ; 
Then though I drudge thro' dub an' mire, 

At pleugh or cart. 
My Muse, though hamely in attire. 

May touch the heart. 

for a spunk o' Allan^s glee, 
Or Fet^guson^Sy the bauld and slee. 
Or bright Lapraik^Sy my friend to be. 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear enough for me, 

If I could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve are few. 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist. 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel y 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends and folks that wish me well. 

They sometimes roose me j 

Tho' I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae "uoee faut they whyles lay to me, 
1 like the lasses — Guid forgie me ! 
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me. 

At dance or fair ; 
May be some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 



221 

But Mauchline Race, or Mauchline Fair^ 
I should be proud to meet you there ^ 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care. 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' i^hymiiwware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter. 
An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; 
Syne we'll sit downi an' t?.k our whitter. 

To cheer our heart \ 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa ye selfish warly race, 
Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, 
Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catch'tJie-plack; 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
"Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms. 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms. 

My friends, my brothers \ 

But, to conclude my lang epistle. 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle \ 
Tv;a lines frae you wad gar me fisie. 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing, or whissle. 

Your friend and servant, 
T S 



222 



TO THE SAME. 



»oo;J«*f;< 



April %\y 1785, 



WHILE new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own Pm debtor. 
To honest "hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 



Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten hours bite. 
My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs, 

I wou'd na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie. 
She's saft at best, and something lazy. 
Quo' she, « Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 

" This month an' mair, 
« That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie, 

<* An' something sair.' 



223 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad ; 
« Conscience," says I, " ye thowless jad t 
" rU write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

^« This vera night y 
<f So dinna ye affront your trade, 

« But rhyme it right. 

<< Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
« Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
«* Roose you sae weel for your deserts^ 

<^ In terms sae friendly, 
^« Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

« An' thank him kindly!' 

Sae I gat paper in a blink, 
An' do\vn gaed stumpie in the ink : 
Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

^« I vow I'll close it ; 
•* An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

« By Jove, I'll prose it !" 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither. 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither. 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 

Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' earp, 
Tho' Fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune ^waft an' "doarp; 

She's but a b^tch- 



224^ 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg. 
Sin I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg 

Wi' iyart pow, 
ril laugh, an' sing, an* shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer. 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ^ 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

/, Rob^ am here. 

Do ye envy the city Genfy 
Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 
Or purse-proud, big wi' cerit, pet^ cent. 

And muckle wame. 
In some bit Brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' ruffl'd sark, an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane. 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets afF are ta'en. 

As by he walks ? 

« O Thou^ wha gies us each guid gift ! 
<« Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, 
«< Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

« Thro' Scotland wide ; 
« Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

<^ In a' their pride ! 



225 

Were this the charter of our state, 
<vOn pain o'.hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be our fate. 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heav'n, that's no the gate 

"We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal Mandate ran. 
When first the human race began, 
^« The social, friendly, honest man, 

« Whate'er he be, 
<* 'Tis he fulfils great 'Nature's plarty 

« An' none but he P* 

O Mandate glorious and divine ! 
The followers of the ragged Nine, 
Poor thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 

In glorious light. 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as nights 

Tho' here they scrape, an^ squeeze, an' growl, 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul,. 
May in some Juture carcase howl. 

The forest's fright y 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May »hun the light. 

Then may Lapraik znd Burns arise. 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys. 

In some mild sphere. 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year I 



226 



TO 



W. 5*****^, Ochiltree. 

May^ 1785, 



I GAT your letter, winsome Willie; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie \ 
The' I maun say't, I wad be silly. 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie, 

Your flattVIn strain* 



But Fse believe ye kindly meant It, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidlins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel. 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' AllaUy or wi' Gilbertfieldy 

The braes o' fame \ 
Or FergusoUy the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 



227 

(O Ferguson ! thy glorious parts 
111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane hearts. 

Ye E'nbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes. 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 
As whiles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain. 
She's gotten Poets o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while. 
To set her name in measured style ; 
She lay like some unkend-of isle 

Beside New Holla7i\ 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Bximsayy an' famous Ferguson^ 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweedy to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irwiny hagary Ayr^ an' Doon^ 

Naebody sings. 



228 

Th* niissusy Tiber y Thames^ an' Seine^ 
Clide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Williey set your fit to mine. 

An' cock your crest, 
Well gar our streams an' Burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld CoiWs plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather-bells. 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells. 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae Southren billies. 

At Wallace^s name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood \ 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace's side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod. 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O sweet are Coilah haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

With wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray y 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day. 



229 

O Nature ! a' thy shew an' forms. 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the Summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light. 
Or Winter howls, in gusty storms. 

The lang, dark night ! . 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand her. 
Till by himsel' he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander. 

An' no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The warly race may drudge an' drive^ 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive. 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive. 

And I, wi' pleasure. 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither !" 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal : 
IMay Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies ; 
While Terra Firma, on her axis. 

Diurnal turns. 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice. 

In Robert Burns. 

U 



230 



POSTSCRIPT, 



My memory's no worth a preen ; 
I had amaist forgotten clean, 
Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this nex^4ight^y 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

" Maist Uke to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans 
At Grammar J Logicy an' sic talents, 
They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans, 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the Moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon. 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it. 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang ^ 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

• See Note, p. 86, 



231 

Some Jierdsy weel learn'd upo' the beuk. 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteukj 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk. 

An' out o' sight. 
An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright:. 

This was deny'd, it w^s affirm'd ; 
The herds an' kissels were alarm'd : 
The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clouts an' kicks, 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks. 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands. 
An' auld'light caddies bure sic hands. 
That faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
Till Lairds forbade, by strict commands. 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But ne^dO'light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe. 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe, 

Ye'U find ane plac'd j 
An' some, their 7ieW'light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd 
U2 



232 

Nae doubt the auld-light Jloclts are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin j 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin spite, 
To hear the Moon sae sadly He'd on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons^ 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the Moonsy 

An' see them right. 



Guld observation they will gie them ; 
An' when the auld Moon^s gaun to lea'e them, 
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the 7ieW'l?ghf billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch f 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething but a " moonshine matter •," 
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we Bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



233 



LETTER 



JOHN GOUDIE, 

KILMARNOCK, 

On the Publication of his Essays. 



•see»f<^^)oe«e« 



O GOUDIE ! terror o' the Whigs, 
Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wigs, 
Soor Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin looks back, 
"Wishin the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin, glowrin Superstition, 

Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ; 

Fy, bring Black-Jock, her state Physician, ^ 

To see her w-ter j 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 
U3 



234 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, 
But now she's got an unco ripple. 
Haste, gie her name up i' the chappel^ 

Nigh unto death ; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple. 

An' gasps for breath. 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 

Gaen in a galloping consumption. 

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption. 

Will ever mend her. 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption. 

Death soon will end her. 



*Tis you and Taylor * are the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief ; 
But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, 

A toom tar barrel 
An' twa red peats wad send relief. 

An' end the quarrel. 

♦ Dr Taylor of Norwich. 



235 



ANSWER 



TRIMMING LETTER, 



TAILOR. 



WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie b — h. 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
Losh man ! hae mercy wi' your natch, 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
I did na suffer ha'f sae much 

Frae Daddie Auld. 



What tho' at times when I grow crouse, 
I gie their wames a random pouse. 
Is that eneugh for you to souse 

Your servant sae ? 
Gae mind your seani; ye prick the louse. 

An' jag the flea. 



236 

King David o' poetic brief. 
Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
As j5ird his after life wi' grief 

An' bloody rants. 
An* yet he's rank'd amang the chief 

O' lang syne saunts. 

And maybe, Tarn, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
I'll gie auld cloven Clootie's haunts 

An unco slip yet. 
An' snugly sit amang the saunts 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fegs, the Session says I maun 

Gae fa' upo' anither plan, 

Than garren lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels owre body, 
And sairly thole their mither's ban. 

Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on to tell for sport. 
How I did wi' the Session sort — 
Auld Clinkum at the Inner-port 

Cry'd three times, " Robin ! 
<^ Come hither lad, an' answer for't, 

" Ye're blam'd for jobbln." 

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on. 
And snoov'd awa' before the Session — 
I made an open fair confession, 

I scorn to lie ; 
An' syne Mess John, beyond expression. 

Fell foul o' me. 



237 

A furnicator lown he call'd me, 

An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me ; 

I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, 

" But what the matter,'^ 
Quo' I, " I fear, unless ye geld me, 

« I'll ne'er be better." 

" Geld you !" quo' he, " and whatfore no, 
" If that your right hand, leg, or toe, 
*< Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe, 

« You shou'd remember 
" To cut It afF, an' whatfore no, 

« Your dearest member.'^ 

<« Na, na," quo' I, « I'm no for that, 
*f Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't, 
" I'd rather suffer for my faut, 

" A hearty flewit, 
<^ As sair owre hip as ye can draw't 

<<^Tho' I should rue it. 

<' Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
" To please us a', I've just ae ither, 
" When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 

« Whate'er betide it, 
" I'll frankly gie her't a' thegither, 

« An' let her guide it." 

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava. 
An' therefore, Tam, when that I saw, 
I said, " Guid night," and cam awa. 

And left the Session ^ 
I saw they were resolved a' 

On my oppression. 



238 



THE 



WHISTLE. 



BALLAD. 



AS the ZMihtmxc Profe hiflory of the 
Whistle is curious, I fliall here give it* — la 
the train of Anne of Denmark, when fhe 
came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, 
there came over alfo a Danifh gentleman of 
gigantic ftature and great prowefs, and a 
matchlefs champion of Bacchus* He had a 
little ebony Whiftle, which, at the com- 
mencement of the orgies, he laid on the 
table ; and whoever was laft able to blow it, 
every body elfe being difabled by the potency 
of the bottle, was to carry off the Whiftle as 
a trophy of viftory. — The Dane produced 
credentials of his vi6lories, without a fmgle 
defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stock- 
holm, Mofcow, Warfaw, and feverai of the 
petty courts in Germany j and challenged 



239 

the Scotch Bacchanalians to the alternative of 
trying his prowefSj or elfe of acknowledging 
their inferiority. — After many overthrows on 
the part of the Scots, the Dane was encoun- 
tered by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, 
anceftor to the prefent worthy baronet of that 
name ; w^ho, after three days and three 
nights, hard conteft, left the Scandinavian 
under the table, " And blew on the Whiftlc 
^' his requiem fhrill/' 

Sir Walter, fon to Sir Robert before men- 
tioned, afterwards loft the Whiflle to Walter 
Riddel of Glenriddel, who had manied a 
fifter of Sir Walter's.— On Friday, the 16th 
Odober, 1790, at Friars-Carfe, the Whiiile 
was once more contended for, as related in 
the Ballad, by the prefent Sir Robert Lowrie 
of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Efq, of 
Glenriddel, lineal defcendant and reprefenta- 
tive of Walter Riddel, v/ho won the Whiflle, 
and in whofe family it had continued ; and 
Alexander Fergufon, Efq. of Craigdarroch, 
likewlfe defcended of the great Sir Robert ; 
w^hich lad gentleman carried off the hard- 
won honours of the field. 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
And long with this Whistle aU Scotland shall ring. 



240 

Old Loda*, still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends do\vn from his hall— 
<< This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get 

" o'er, 
^^ And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er s^e me 

" more !" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
"What champions ventured, what champions fell; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still. 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatched at the bottle, unconquer'd in war. 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea. 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd. 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood. 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of 

flaw y 

Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law j 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil. 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the dan. 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

* See Oflian's Caric-thura; 



Ul 



" By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
« Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
" rU conjure the ghost of the great P.orie More*, 
^^ And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend. 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And knee-deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair. 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 
But for wine and for welcome not more known to 

fame. 
Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. 

A Bard was selected to witness the fray. 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen. 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply. 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set. 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were 
wet. 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn. 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

X 

* See Johnfon's Tower to the Hebrides. 



242 



Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red. 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 



Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage. 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage j 
A high ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 



The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can with Fate and Quart Bumpers contend ? 
Though Fate said, — a hero should perish in light j 
Sa uprose bright Phoebus — and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
^« Craigdarroch, thoult soar when creation shall 

« sink ! 
** But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
<^ Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 



^^ Thy line that have struggled for freedom with 
" Bruce, 
<« Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
« So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
*« The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of 
" day !'' 



^4S 



ADDRESS 



SHADE OF THOMSON, 



On crowning his Bust, at Ed?iam^ Uoxburghshire^ 
mth Bays. 



;>C*5«-#c 



WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 
Or tunes Eolian strains between. 



While Summer, with a matron grace, 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade. 

While Autumn, benefactor kind. 
By Tweed erects his aged head, 

And sees, with self-approving mind. 
Each creature on his bounty fed. 

X2 



^ 244 

While maniac Winter rages o'er, 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. 
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows. 

So long, sweet Poet of the Year, 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won j 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



LINES, 

Written tmder the Picture of the celebrated 
Miss Burns. 

CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing. 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess; 
True it is, she had one failing. 
Had ae woman ever less ? 



245 



TAM O' SHANTER. 



TALE. 



— «sSS*i5.*^ 



Of Bro\X)nyis and of Bogillis full is this Bulce. 

Gawin Douglas. 

WHEN chapman billies leave the street. 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting fou and imco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scotch miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
AVhare sits the sulky sullen dame, 
Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shante?^, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses. 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 
X3 



246 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise> 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
At blehering, blustering, drucken blellum •, 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober •, 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the L— -d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesy'd, that, late or soon, 
Thou wouldst be found deep drown'd in Doon ^ 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk. 
By Allowa^s auld haunted kirk. 



Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet. 
How mony lengthen'd sage advices. 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night. 
Tarn had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely 5 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnnyy 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter y 
And ay the ale was growing better ; 



247 



The landlady and Tarn grew gracious,^ 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious |. 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories , 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle> 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 



Care, mad to see a man sae happy^ 
E'en drowned himsel amang the nappy ^ 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious i 

But pleasures are like poppies spread^ 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed y 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 

A moment white then melts for ever ; 

Or like the borealis race. 

That flit ere you can point their place \ 

Or like the rainbow's lovely form 

Evanishing amid the storm. — 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 

The hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; 

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane. 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in \ 

And sic a night he taks the road in. 

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last j 
The ratling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
I.oud, deep, and lang, the thunder beliow'd : 



248 

That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 



Weel mounted on his grey mare Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire. 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares. 
Lest bogles catch him unawares : 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drucken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
And tliro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungds mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours a' his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk'Allowai/ seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 



249 

Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil f — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle^ 
Fair play, he car'd iia deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd> 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd. 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
An', vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae Franccy 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A winnock-bunker in the east. 
There sat auld nick, in shape o' beast ; 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large. 
To gie them music was his charge : 
He screw'd the pipes, and gart them skirl. 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses j 
And by some devilish cantrip slight. 
Each in its cauld hand held a light. — 
By which, heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns $. 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted \ 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled, 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft^ 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft : 



250 

(Tliree lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out, 
Wi' lies seem'd like a beggar's clout ; 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk.) 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awefu'. 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, am^z'd, and curious, 
The mirtli and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew •, 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tamy O Tarn ! had thae been queens, 
A' plump aad strapping in their tec^nc. 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen. 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen ! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
TMt ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies. 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowpin an' flingin on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kend what v/as what fu' brawlie, 
There was ae winsome wench and wawlie. 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 



251 

tor mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear ;) 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
fn longitude tho' sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. — 
Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie. 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,) 
Wzd ever grac'd a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cour ; 
^ic flights are far beyond her powV -, 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was an' Strang.) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
'And thought his vera een enrich'd; 
Ev'n Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain. 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main j 
fill first ae caper, syne anither. 
Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, 
A.nd roars out, <« Weel done, Cutty-sark !" 
And in an instant all was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
tVhen plundering herds assail their byke j 
^ open pussie's mortal foes, 
l^hen, pop ! she starts before their nose j 
/Vs pager runs the market-crowd, 

AVhen "Catch the thief !" resounds aloud ; 

|po Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
tVi' mony an eldritch skreeeh and hollow. 



252 

Ah, Tarn I Ah, Tarn ! thou'U get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane* o' the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump. 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read. 
Ilk man and mother's son take heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd. 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear. 
Remember Tarn d Shanter's mare. 



* It is a well known facfl that witches, or any evil fplrits, have 
no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of 
the next running ftreani. — It may be proper likewife to mention 
to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles^ 
whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much 
more hazard in turning back. 



253 

ON THE 

LATE CAPT. GROSE'S 

PEREGRINATIONS THRO' SCOTLAND, 

Collecting the Antiquities of that Kingdom. 



HEAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maldenkirk to Johnny Groats ; — 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : 
A chield's amang you, takin notes, 

And, faith ! he'll prent it. 

If In your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright. 

That's he, mark weel-^ 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted, biggin,'^ 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin. 
It's ten to ane ye'U find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' dells, they say, L — d safe's ! coUeaguin 

At some black art. — - 

Y 

* Vide his Antiquities of Scgtland. 



254? 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer. 
Ye gypsey-gang that deal in glamor, 
And you deep-read in hell's black grammar. 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'U quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b es. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade. 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And taen the Aritiquarian tradcy 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,* 
Wad haud the LothianS three in tackets, 

A towmont guid ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets. 

Before the Flood. 

O' Eve's first fire he has ae cinder ; 
Auld Tubal-cain's fire-shool and fender \ 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he'll shape you aff fu' gleg 
The cut o' Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully. 
It was a fauldin jocteleg, 

Or lang kail-guUie. — 

♦ Vide his Treatife on Ancient Armour and Weapons. 



255 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he. 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wl' him ; 
And port J O port ! shine thou a wee. 

And then ye'U see him ! 

Now, by the PowVs o' Verse and Prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd tak the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee. 






VERSES 



WRITTEN ON A 



IVindoxv of the Inn at Carron. 



WE cam na here to view your warks, 
In hopes to be mair wise. 
But only, lest we gang to hell. 

It may be nae surprise : 
But whan we tirl'd at your door. 

Your porter dought na hear us ; 
Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts come, 
Your billy Satan sair us ! 
Y2 



256 



EPIGRAM 



ON 



CAPT. FRANCIS GROSE, 



THE CELEBRATED'ANTIQUARIAN. 



I'he following Epigram, written in a moment of feftivity by Burns, 
was fo much relifhed by Grofe, that he made it ferve as an ex- 
xdz for prolon^ino; the cpnyivial occafion that gave it birth to ^ 
Tery late hour. 



THE Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 
So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came 
flying ; 
But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay 

moaning, 
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning,* 
Astonished ! confounded ! cry'd Satan, By G-d, 
ril v/ant 'im, ere I take such a d- ble load. 



* Mr Grofe was exceedingly corpulent, and ufed to rally him- 
felf, with the greateft good humour, on the fuigular rotundity 
of his figure- 



257 

SECOND EPISTLE 

TO 

DAVIE, 

A BROTHER FORT. 

AuLD Neebor, 

I'M three times, doubly owre, your debtor, 
For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter •, 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair ; 
For my poor, silly, rhymin clatter, 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle, 
Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle. 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares. 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld grey hairs. 

But, Pavie lad, I'm rede, ye're glaikit ; 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit j 
An' gif its sae, ye shou'd be lickit 

Until ye fyke ^ 
Sic hands as you shou'd ne'er be faikit. 

Be hain't wha' like. 
Y3 



258 

For me, Tm on Parnassus' brink, 
Ry vin the words, to gar them clink ; 
Whyles daezt wi' love, whyles daezt wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think, 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' men, 
Commend me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan, 

O' rhymin clink. 
The devil-haet, that I shou'd ban. 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin, 
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin ; 
But just the pouch to put the neive in. 

An' while ought's there. 
Then hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrivin. 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! it's ay a treasure. 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure. 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raplock be her measure. 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie •, 
The warl* may play you mony a shavie ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae poor, 
Nae, e'en tho' limpin wi' the spavie 

Frae door to door. 



259 



LAMENT 



OF 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 



APPROACH OF SPRING. 



NOW Nature hangs her mantle greeir 
On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams^ 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 
That fast in durance lies. 



Now laverocks wake the merry morn^ 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bowV, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis mild, wi' many a note> 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice^ 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest* 



260 

Now blooms the lilly by the bank. 

The primrose down the brae -, 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen. 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 



I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu^ lightly rase I in the morn. 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And Fna the Sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 



But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to tliee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 



My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine : 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign. 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 



261 

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes. 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 

Remember him for me ! 

O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

"Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave 5 
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave^ 



LINES 

Written on a Window^ at the King^s Arms 
Tavern^ Dumfries^ 

YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
'Gainst poor Excisemen ? give the cause a 
hearing : 
What are your landlords rent-rolls ? taxing ledgers r 
What premeirs, what ? even Monarchs mighty 
gaigers : 
Nay, what are priests ? those seeming godly wise- 
men \ 
What are they pray ? but spiritual Excisemen. 



262 

TO 
ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. of FINTRY. 

LATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest) ; 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the light he first survey'd, 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade. 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, 1 arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I cbmplain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. — 
Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour, 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. — 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug. 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug. 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard. 

To thy poor, fenceless, naked child the Bard ! 

A thing unteachable in worldly skill. 
And half an idiot too, n^ore helpless still. 



263 

No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun ; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthaea's horn : 
No nerves olfactVy, Mammon's trusty cur. 
Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur. 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics — appaird, I venture on the name. 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes j 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung. 
By blockheads daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear. 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear ; 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife. 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life, 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd. 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd. 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, "l 

Dead, even resentment^ for his injur'd page, > 

He heeds or feels no more the rutliless Critic's rage ! j 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceased, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast j 
By toil and famine worn to skin and bone. 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 



264 

Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm sheltered haven of eternal rest ! 

Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder <«some folks" do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope. 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope. 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that ^« fools are Fortune's care.'* 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks. 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
But turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 

1 dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencaiimj the truly noble, . lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears. 
And left us darkling in a world of tears ;) 

O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! 
Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; '1 

Give energy to life ^ and soothe his latest breathy > 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! j 



265 



LAMENT 



FOR. 



JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 



THE wind blew hollow frae the hills, 
By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 
Whom death had all untimely taen. 

He leaned him to an ancient nik. 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi* tears j 
And as he touched his trembling harp. 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their cares, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

'^ Ye scattered birds that faintly sing, 
" The reliques of the vernal quire ! 

«' Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 
<^ The honours of the aged year ! 
Z 



266 



^^ A few short months, and glad and gay, 
« Again ye'U charm the ear and e'e : 

^^ But nocht in all revolving time 
^^ Can gladness bring again to me. 



*^ I am a bending aged tre^, 

*^ That long has stood the wind and rain 5 
^^ But now has come a cruel blast, 

^« And my last hold of earth is gane ; 
^^ Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

«^ Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
^^ But I maun lie before the storm, 

^^ And ithers plant them in my room. 



*^ Fve seen sae mony changefu* years, 

<^ On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
^^ I wander in the ways of men, 

*^ Alike unknowing and unknown : 
*^ Unheard, unpitied, unrelievM, 

^^ I bear alane my lade o' care, 
^^ For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

<^ Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 



*< And last, (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

<< My noble master lies in clay ; 
<« The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

*^ His country's pride, his country's stay : 
«« In weary being now I pine, 

« For a' the life of life is dead, 
«« And hope has left my aged ken, 

«^ On forward wing for ever fled. 



267 

« Awake tliy last sad voice, my harp ! 

" The voice of woe and wild despair ! 
« Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

<« Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
« And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

" That jBllest an untimely tomb, 
« Accept this tribute from the Bard 

<^ Thou brought'st from fortune's mirkest gloom. 

« In Poverty's low barren vale, 

" Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round ; 
" Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

<< Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
<^ Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 

" That melts the fogs in limpid air^ 
<< The friendless Bard and rustic song, 

« Became aUke thy fostering care. 

<< O ! why has worth so short a date ? 

" While villains ripen grey with time ! 
<^ Must thou, the noble, genVous, great, 

^^ Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime 1 
^^ Why did I live to see that day ? 

<^ A day to me so full of woe ! 
" O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

«^ Which laid my benefactor low ! 

'« The bridegroom may forget the bride, 

^^ Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
^« The monarch may forget the crown 

^' That on his head an hour has been j 
«< The mother may forget the child 

" That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
<« But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

" An' a' that thou hast done for me V^ 
Z2 



268 



THE 



HUMBLE PETITION 



BRUAR WATER* 



TO THl 



NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 



MY Lord, I know your noble ear 
Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phcebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 
And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping, glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts. 

They near the margin stray ; 

•■ Bruar Falls, in Atho^e, are exceedingly plt^urefque and 
^autiful; but their cfFedl is much impaired by the want of |rcc» 
and ihrubi. 



269 

If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

Fm scorching up so shallow. 
They're left, the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by. 
That, to a Bard, I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Ev'n as I was he shor'd me j 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 



Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks. 

In twisting strength I rin : 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes. 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel. 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 



Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes. 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring tree^i, 

And bonnie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks. 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tunefu' thanks. 
Z3 



270 

The sober lav'rock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow •, 
The robin pensive Autumn cheer. 

In all her locks of yellow : 



This too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm j 
And coward maukin sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To wave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat. 

From prone descending show'rs. 



And here, by sweet endearing stealtjb. 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
. Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screea the dear embrace. 



Here haply too, at vernal dawn^, 
Some musing bard may stray. 

And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 
And misty mountain, grey ; 



271 

Or, by the reaper's nightly beam. 
Mild-chequering thro' the trees, 

Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool. 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, . 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed : 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn j 
And, for the little songster's nest. 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may, Old Scotia's darling hope. 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken. 

To social-flowing glasses, 
The grace be " Athole's honest men, 

" And Athole's bonnie lasses !" 






272 
On scaring some JVater-Fotd in Loch^Turit^ 

A wild fcene among the 

HILLS OF OUGHTERTYRE. 



WHY, ye tenants of the lake. 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man, your proud usurping foe. 
Would be lord of all below : 
Plumes himself in freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 



273 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below. 
In his breast no pity dwells. 
Strong Necessity compels. 
But Man, to whom alone is glv^n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 

Glories in his heart humane 

And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains. 
Only known to wand'ring swains. 
Where the mossy riv'let strays. 
Far from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man*s superior might 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 




274 



Written mth a PENCIL^ 



STANDING BY THE 



FALL of FYERS, near LOCH-NESS. 



AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow. 
As deep recoiling surges foam below. 
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends. 
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 
Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs. 
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils. 
And still, below, the horrid caldron boils. 



EPIGRAM 

On Elphtmtone^ s Translation of MartiaVs Epigrams* 

OTHOU whom Poetry abhors. 
Whom Prose has turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan — proceed no further, 
'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murder. 



275 



FRAGMENT. 

Tune, Killicrankie. 



WHEN Guilford good our Pilot stood. 
An' did our helHm thraw, man ; 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America^ man : 
Then up they gat the maskln-pat. 

And in the sea did jaw, man ; 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 
Than quite refuse our law, man. 



11. 



Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down JLcmrieh hum he took a turn. 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Araang his en'mies a', man. 



276 



in. 



Poor Tammy Gage within a cage 

Was kept at Boston ha\ man ; 
Till Willie Ho'we took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia^ man : 
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid Christian blood to draw, man ; 
But at New- York J wi' knife an' fork. 

Sir Loin he hacked sma', man. 



IV. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spurs an' whip, 

Till Fraser- brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day. 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Comwallis fought as lang's he dought. 

An' did the Buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive fra rust to save 

He hung it to the wa', man. 



Then Montague^ an' Guildford too. 

Began to fear a fa', man •, 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke^ like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box. 

An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man.- 



877 

VI. 

Then Rockingham took up the game ; 

Till Death did on him ca', man ; 
When Skelborne meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to Gospel law, man : 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi* jarring noise. 

They did his measures thraw, man ; 
For North an' Fox united stocks. 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

VII. 

Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlieh cartes. 

He swept the stakes awa', man. 
Till Diamond's Ace, of Indian race. 

Led him a sair faux paSy man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads. 

On Chatham's Boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe an' blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur them a' man !" 

VIIL 

Behind the throne then Grenville^s gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heav'nly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, Williey rise ! 

" Would I hae fear'd them a', man !" 
Aa 



27S 

IX. 

Bttt, word an' blow, Norths Fox and Co. 

Gowff 'd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron raise, and coost their clalse 

Behind him in a raw, man : 
An* Caledon threw by the drone. 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood 

To mak it guid in law, man. 



>"«a$;i^^^^\^^^\^M^cs» 



EPIGRAM. 

BURNS, accompanied by a friend^ having gone to Inverary at a time 
nvhen fome company 'were on a 'vlftt to his Grace the Duke of 
Argyll^ Jinding himfelf and his companion entirely negleBed by the 
Inn-keepeVy ivhofe ivhole attention feemed to be occupied ivith the 
*vi/ttors of his Grace, exprejffed his disapprobation of the incivility 
%vith ivhicb they ivere treated in the folloiving lines .•— 



WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here, 
I pity much his case, 
Unless he come to wait upon 
The Lord their God, his Grace. 

There's naething here but Highland pride. 
And Highland scab and hunger ; 

If Providence has sent me here, 
Twas surely in an anger. 



279 



OK THE 



BIRTH of a POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 

Born in peculiar Clrcumftances of Family-Diflrefs. 



9^l^eQ 



SWEET flowVet, pledge o' melkle love. 
And ward o' mony a prayer, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move> 
Sae helpless, sweet, and fain 



November hirples o'er the lea, 
Chill, on thy lovely form ; 

And gane, alas ! the sheltering tree, 
Should shield thee frae the storm. 



May He, who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings the blast to blaw. 

Protect thee frae the driving showV, 
The bitter frost and snaw. 



May He, the friend of woe and want. 
Who heals life's various stounds, 

Protect and guard the mother plant. 
And heal her cruel wounds, 
K^2 



280 

But late she flourish'd, rooted fast. 
Fair on the summer morn : 

Now, feebly bends she, in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land. 



EPITAPH 

ON JOHN DOVE, 
Innkeeper i Mauchline. 

HERE lies Johnny Pidgeon, 
What was his religion, 
Whae'er desires to ken. 
To some other warl'. 
Maun follow the carl, 
For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane. 

Strong ale was ablution. 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was momeiito mori; 
But a full flowing bowl, 
Was the saving his soul. 
And Port was celestial glory. 



281 



JOHN BARLEYCORN.! 



A 

BALLAD. 



I. 

THERE was three kings into the east, 
Three kings both great and high, 
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

11. 

They took a plough and plowed him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

III. 

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on. 

And show'rs began to fall \ 
John Barleycorn got up again 

And sore surpris'd them all. 
Aa 3 



f This is partly compof^d en the plan of an old forg knowfi 
by the fame name. 



282 



IV. 



The sultry suns of Summer came. 
And he grew thick and strong ; 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 
That no one should him wrong, 

V. 

The sober Autumn entered mild, 
When he grew wan an' pale 9 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to fail. 

VI. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age, 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

VII. 

They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp^ 

And cut him by the knee. 
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart. 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

VIII. 

They laid him down upon his back. 
And cudgeird him full sore 5 

They hung him up before the storm^ 
And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 



283 



IX. 



They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

X. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe, 
And still, as signs of life appeared. 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

XL 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a Miller us'd him worst of all. 

For he crush'd him 'tween two stones. 

XII. 

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood. 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank. 
Their joy did more abound. 

XIII. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold. 

Of noble enterprise. 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 



284 



XIV- 



Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

The* the tear were in her eye. 

XV. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



EPITAPH 

ON A 

WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 



LAMENT 'im Mauchline husbands a'. 
He aft en did assist ye ; 
For had ye staid whole weeks awa, 
Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. 

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 
To school in bands thegither, 

O tread ye lightly on his grass, 
Perhaps he was your father. 



285 

HOLY WILLIE^s 
PRAYER. 



OTHOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as It pleases best thyseF, 
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for ony guid or III 

They've done afore thee !* 

I bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left In night. 
That I am here afore thy sight, 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burnin' an' a shinin' light, 

To a' this place. 



* This IS highly charadenftic of the fentiments and difpofi- 
tions of many ignorant Bigots, who *' have a zeal for God, (ai 
they imagine) but not according to knowledge;" and the author 
here, as alfo in his Holy Fair and feveral other pieces, cxercifes 
his ingenious talent of fatire to expofe their ignorance and 
hj-pocrify. 

Farther to confirm the reality of this pharlfaical charader, it 
may be worthy of obfervation, in this place, that the Rev. Geo. 
Whitfield, in one of his vifits to Scotland, was folemnly 
reprobated by the Seceders, becaufe he refufed to confine his 
itinerant labours ivholly to them. The reafon afligned for this 
monopoly was, that they were exclusively God*s people ! 
Mr Whitfield fiiiartly replied, that they had, therefore, the 
lefs need of his fervices ; for his aim was to turny/;w^;v from the' 
error and wickednefs of their ways, by preaching among them 
glad tidings of great joy. 



£86 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get such exaltation, 
I wha deserve sic just damnation. 

For broken laws. 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
ThoU might'st hae plunged me in hell. 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail. 

In burnin' lake, 
Whare damned devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample. 

To show thy grace is great an' ample 5 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an' example, 

To a' thy flock. 

O L— d, thou kens what zeal I bear. 
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear. 
And singin' there, and dancin' here, 

Wi' great an' sma' ; 
For I am keepit by thy fear. 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must. 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust. 
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust. 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 



587 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg, 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

O ! rnay't ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour. 
An' rU ne'er lift a lawless 1-g 

Again upon her. 

Besides, I farther maun avow, 

Wi' Lizie's lass, three times I trow ; 

But, L — d, that Friday I was fow. 

When I came near her. 
Or else thou kens, thy servant tr^e^ 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 

Maybe thou lets this Jleslily thcnm^ 

Beset thy servant e'en and morn. 

Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted / 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d bless thy chosen in this place. 

For here thou hast a chosen race; 

But G-d confound their stubborn face. 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 

An' public shame. 

L — d mind G — ^v — n H — ^m — n's deserts, 
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carts, \ 
Yet has sae monie takin' arts, 

Wi' grit an' sma% 
Frae G — d's awn priest the people's hearts 

He steels awa'. 



288 

An* wlian we chastened him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore. 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail an' potatoes. 

L — d hear my earnest cry an' prayV, 

Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, L — d make it bare, 

Upo' their heads, 
L — d weigh it down, and dinna spare. 

For their misdeeds. 

O L — d my G-d, that glib-tongu'd A — ^k' — ^n, 
My vera heart an' saul are quakin'. 
To think how I sat sweetin', shakin'. 

An' p — d wi' dread. 
While Auld wi' hingin' Up gaed snakin'. 

And hid his head. 

L — d in the day of vengeance try him, 
L — d visit them wha did employ him. 
An' pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r ; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 

But, L — d, remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine. 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Exceird by nane, 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen. 



289 



EPITAPH 



ON 



HOLY WILLIE. 



HERE Holy Willie's sair worn clay 
Taks up its last abode ; 
His saul has ta'en some other way, 
I fear, the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun. 

Poor silly body see him \ 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, 

Observe wha^s standin' wi' him. 

Your brunstane devilship I see 
Has got him there before ye ; 

But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, 
Till ance youVe heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gi'en him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gaen. 

But hear me, Sir, de'il as ye are. 
Look something to your credit \ 

A coof like him wou'd stain your name. 
If it were kent ye did it. 
Bb 



290 



ADDRESS 



ILLEGITIMATE CHILD- 



THOU's welcome wean, mishanter fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me. 

My sweet wee lady. 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 



Wee image of my bonny Betty, 
I, fatherly will kiss an' daut thee. 
As dear an* near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as gude will 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' h-lL 



What tho' they ca' me fornicator. 
An' tease my name in kintry clatter : 
The mair they tauk I'm kent the better, 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 



291 



Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint. 

Sin' tkou came to the warl asklent, 

Which fools may scoff at , 
In my last plack thy part's be in't, 

The better ha'fo't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
An' tak the counsel I sail gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee. 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years Til e'e thee, 

An' think't wecl war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit. 

Without his failins, 
*Twill please me mair to hear an' see't. 

Than stocket mailena. 



EPITAPH, 

On the Tombstone of Robert FergusoNj in the 
Cannongafe Church Yard, Edinburgh. 

NO sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay. 
No storied urn, nor animated bust ; 
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way, 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust, 
Bb2 



292 
WRITTEN IN 

FRURS-CARSE HERMITAGE, 
ON NITH-SIDE. 



THOU whom chance may hither lead^ 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

r 

Life is but a day at most. 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost j 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 



As Youth and Love, with sprightly dance^ 
Beneath thy morning star advance. 
Pleasure, with her siren air. 
May delude the thoughtless pair j 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale o^. 



293 

Check thy climbing step, elate, 

Evils lurk in felon wait : 

Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold. 

Soar around each cliffy hold. 

While cheerful Peace, \rith linnet song. 

Chants the lowly dells among. 



As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose-, 
As life itself becomes disease. 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease : 
There ruminate with sober thought. 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Laws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate,, 
Is not. Art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind. 
As thou thyself must shortly find. 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, 
To Virtue or to Vice is grv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise. 
Their solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, se\5sh, faithless ways, 
Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. 
Bba 



Thus resigned and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break. 
Till Future Life, future no more. 
To light and joy the good restore, „. 

To light and joy unknow^n before. j; 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide ! 
^uoth the Beadsman of Nith-side. 



I 



EPITAPH 

ON IVEE JOHNNIE, 

Hie jacet wee Johnnie. 

WHOFER thou art, O reader, know^ 
That death has murder'd Johnnie ! 
An* here his bcd^ lies fu' low - 
For satd he ne'er had ony. 



295 



EPISTLE 



JOHN RANKINr 

Inclosing some Poems. 



O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankin, 
The wale o' cocks for fun and drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin. 

Your dreams^ an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld NickV 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants. 
And in your wicked, drunken rants. 
Ye mak a devil o' the Saunts, 

An' fill them fou; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 
Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear it. 

The lads in blacky 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 
, ' Rives't aff their back. 



• A certain humorous dream of his was then making a n©i*€ 
in the country-side. 



29(5 

Think, wicked Sinner, wlia ye're skaithing, 
It's just the Blue -gown badge an' clalthlng, 
O' Saunts •, tak that, ye lea'e them nathing. 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate Heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect. 
Yon Sang"^ ye'll sen't, wi' cannie care. 

And no neglect. 

Tho' faith, sma^ heart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring. 

An' danc'd my fill j 
I'd better gaen an' sair'd the King, 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately in my fun, 
I gaed a roving wi' the gun. 
An' brought a Paitrick to the grun'^. 

A bonnie hen^ 
And, as the twilight was begun. 

Thought nana wad ken. 

The poor, wee thing was little hurt ; 
I straikit it a wee for sport. 
Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't j 

But, Deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the Poacher-Court 

The hale affair. 

• A fong ke had promised the Author. 



297 

, Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note^ 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie ;. 
So gat the whissle o' my groat, 

An* pay't the fee^ 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale. 
An' by my pouther an' my hail. 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The Game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale, 

For this, neist year^ 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begin to cry, 
L — d, I'se hae sportin by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea : 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 

For't, in Virginia* 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
Twas neither broken wing nor limb. 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers \ 
An' baith a yellow George to claim. 

An' thole their blethers ! 

It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair : 
But ^^WTZt/tCJorM^ again is fair. 

When time's expedient :. 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



a&e 



LINES 



ASDRE8SID TO 



Mr JOHN RANKIN, 

J%i Person to ivhom the preceding Poem is addressed* 

'while he occupied the Farm of Adamhilly 

in Aypr shire. 



AE day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl,^ 
A mixie-maxie motely squad. 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination. 
And thieves of every rank and station. 
From him that wears the star and garter,, 
To him that wintles in a halter r 
Asham'd himself to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glowVing at the bitches, 
« By G-d, I'll not be seen behint them, 
<« Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them,, 
«< Without, at least, ae honest man, 
*< To grace this damn'd' infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
<c L — d, G-d !'^ quoth he, " I have it now,, 
«« There's just the man I want, in faith,'* 
And quickly stopped Rankin's breath. 



299 

ELEGY 

ON THE YEAR 1788. 



FOR Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — for that they're born \ 
But oh ! prodigious to reflect, 
A Tcnxmont^ Sirs, is gane to wreck 1 
O Eighty-eighty in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
An' my aiild teethless Bawtie's dead ; 
The toolzie's teugh 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
An' our guidwife's wee birdy cocks •, 
The tane is game, a bluidy devil. 
But to the hen-hirds imco civil ; 
The tither's dour, has nae sic breedin', 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden ! 



Ye ministers, come mount the pupit, 
An' cry till ye be hearse an' rupit ; 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en mony a plack, an' mony a peck. 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck ! 



sod 

Ye bonny lasses, dight your een, 
For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty-eighty ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, 
How dowff an' dowie now they creep ; 
Nay, e'en the yirth itseF does cry, 
For Embro' wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-niney thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to, learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou now has got thy Daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuiF'd, mizl'd, shackl'd Rege7ity 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man ! 
As muckle better as you can. 

January 1, 1789. 



•oOO-r^-C 



Spoke extempore on a Young Lady desiring him to 

pull her a Sprig of Sloe-thorn to adorn 

her Brea%f„ 

FROM the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe 
. re.quested, 
A sprig her fair breast to adorn ; 
Nay, by heaven, said I, may I perish if ever 
I plant in your bosom a thorn. 



301 



PROLOGUE, 



Spoken hy Mr Woods, on hts Benefit Nighty 
Mondayy I6th Aprils 1787. 



WHEN by a generous Public^s kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest Fame*, 
When here your favour is the actar'^s lot, 
Nor e'en the man in private life forgot ; 
What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glovr. 
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe. 

Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 
It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song ; 
But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 
For genius, learning high, as great in war — 
Hail, Caledonia, name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons Fm honour'd to appear ! 
Where every science — every nobler art — 
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 
Is known \ as grateful nations oft have found 
Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
Philosophy, no idle pedant dream. 
Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reaton's 

beam; 
Here History paints, with elegance and force. 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 

Cc 



302 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, 
And Harley * rouses all the god in man. 
When well-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite. 
With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 
Can only charm us in the second place,) 
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear. 
As on this night, Fve met these judges here ! 
But still the hope Experience taught to live. 
Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. 
No hundred headed Riot here we meet. 
With decency and law beneath his feet j 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 



O thou, dread Power } whose empire-giving hand, 
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honoured land ! 
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ; 
May every son be worthy of his sire ; 
Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain ; 
Still self-dependant in her native shore, ^ 

Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, C 
Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more, j 



The Man of Feeling, wrote by Mr M^KenzIs. 



SOS 

SCOTS PROLOGUE, 

For Mr Sutherland's Benefit Nighty 

Spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries. 



?e4^€c 



WHAT needs this din aboutthetowno'Lon'on? 
How this new Play, and that new Sang is 
comin ? 
Why Is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted ? 
Does Nonsense mend, like Brandy, when imported— 
Is there nae Poet, burning keen for Fame, 
Will bauldly try to gie us Plays at hame ? 
For Comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A Knave an' Fool are plants of ev'17 soil : 
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome or Greece, 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian story. 
Wad shew the Tragic Muse in a' her glory. 
Is there no daring Bard will rise and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell ? 
Where are the Muses fled, that should produce 
A drama worthy of the name of Bruce ? 
How on this spot he first unsheath'd the sword 
^Gainst mighty England and her guilty Lord, 
And after many a bloody, deathless doing, 
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of Ruin ! 
O ! for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene, 
To paint the lovely hapless Scottish Queen ! 
Cc2 



Vain ev'n the omnipotence of Female charms, 
^Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 
She fell — but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
To glut that direst foe — a vengeful woman; 
A woman — tho' the phrase may seem uncivil. 
As able — and as wicked as the devil ! 

As ye have generous done, if a' the land 
Would take the Muses' servants by the hand. 
Not only hear — ^but patronise — defend them ; 
And where ye justly can commend — commend them ; 
And ablins when they winna stand the test. 
Wink hard, and say, "The folks hae done their best.'* 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caition, 
Ye'il soon hae Poets o' the Scottish nation. 
Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet crack,. 
And warsle Time, and lay him on his back. 

For us and for our Stage, should ony spier, 
<« Whase aught thae Chiels maks a' this bustle here V^ 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
We have the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like. 
But, like guid mothers, shore before ye strike ; 
And grateful still, I trust, ye'll ever find us : 
For gen'rous patronage, and meikle kindness. 
We've got frae a' professions, sorts, an' ranks : 
God help us !— we're but poor — ^ye'se get but thanks ! 



305 



THE 



GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE, 



TO 



ROBERT BURNS, 



THE AYRSHIRE BARB. 



February y 1787. 

MT canty, witty, rhyming ploughman, 
I hafflins doubt, it is na' true man. 
That ye between the stilts were bred, 
Wi' ploughmen schooFd, w^i' ploughmen fed. 
r doubt it sair, ye'xe drawn your knowledge 
Either frae grammar-school, or coUedge. 
Guid troth, your saul and body baith 
War' better fed, Td gie my aith. 
Than theirs, who sup sour milk and parritcb. 
An' bummil thro' the single caritch. 
Whaever heard the ploughman speak, 
Could tell gif Homer was a Greek ? 
He'd flee as soon upon a cudgel, 
As get a single line of Virgil. 
An' then sae slee ye crack your jokes 
O' WiUie P— t and Charlie F-x. 
Co 3 



305 

Our great men a^ sae weel descrive, 

An' how to gar the nation thrive, 

Ane maist wad swear ye dwalt amang them^ 

An' as ye saw them^ sae ye. sang them. 

But be ye ploughman, be ye peer, 

Ye are a funny blade, I swear. 

An' though the cauld I ill can bide. 

Yet twenty miles, an' mair, I'll ride. 

O'er moss, an' muir, an' never grumble, 

Tho' my auld yad should gae a stumble, 

To crack a winter-night wi' thee. 

An' hear thy sangs an' sonnets slee. 

A guid saut herring, an' a cake 

Wi' sic a chiel a feast wad make. 

I'd rather scour your ramming yill. 

Or eat o' cheese and bread my fill. 

Than wi' dull lairds on turtle dine^ 

An' ferlie at their wit and wine. 

O, gif I kend but whare ye baide, 

I'd send to you a marled plaid ; 

'Twad hand your shoulders warm and braw^ 

An' douse at kirk, or market shaw. 

Far south, as weel as north, my lad, 

A' honest S<:otsmen lo'e the maud. 

Right wae that we're sae far frae ither j 

Yet proud I am to ca' ye brither. 



Your most ohed, E^ f^ 



S07 



The ANSWER. 



GUIDWIFE, 

I MIND it weel in early Jate, 
When I was beardless, young, and blate^ 
An' first cou'd thresh the barn, 
Or hand a yokm at the pleugh, 
An' tho' fu' foughten sair eneugh, 
Yet unco proud to learn. 



When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was ; 
An' with the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass ; 
Still shearing and clearing 
The tither stocked raw j 
With clavers and haivers 
Wearing the time awa' ; 



£v'n then a wish, (I mind its power) 
A wish, that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast ;. 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
Some useful plan, or book, could make^. 

Or sing a sang at lea3t. 



SOS 

The rough bur-thistle spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd my weeding heuk aside. 
An' spared the symbol dear. 
No nation, no station. 
My envy e'er could raise : 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew no higher praise. 



But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang^ 

"Wild floated in my brain j 
Till on that hairst I said before, 
My partner in the merry core. 

She rous'd the forming strain. 



I see her yet, the sonsy queen, 

That lighted up my jingle ; 
Her pauky smile, her kittle een. 
That gart my heart-strings tingle. 
So tiched, bewitched, 
I rav'd ay to mysel ; 
But bashing and dashing, 
I kend na how to tell. 



Hale to the set, ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter-days. 

An* we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
The saul o' life^ the heav'n below. 

Is rapture-giving woman* 



309 

Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name. 

Be mindfu^ o' your mither : 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her.. 

Ye're wae men, ye're nae men, 
That slight the lovely dears j 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, na bred to barn and byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to you for your line. 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare. 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the Nine* 

Fd be mair vauntie o^ my hap. 

Douse hingin o'er my curple. 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud Imperial purple. 

Farewell then, lang hale then. 
An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca'. 



R. Burns*. 



Marchy 1787. 



91» 

ODE, 

SACR£B TO THE MEMORY 

OF 

Mrs -~— OF 



DWELLER in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark ! 
Who in widow weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonored years. 
Noosing with care a bursting purse. 
Baited with many a deadly curse ? 

STROPHE. 

View the withered beldam's face- 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aut of Humanity's sweet melting grace ? 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows. 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save. 

Hands that took ^but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 

Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest 

She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest ! 



811 



ANTISTROPHE, 



Plunderer of Armies, lift thine eyes ! 
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends,) 
Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends ? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies i 
'Tis thy trusty quondam Matey 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate. 
She, tardy, hell-ward phes. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glittVing pounds a-year ? 
In other worlds can Mammon fail. 
Omnipotent as he is here ? 
O, bitter mockVy of the pompous hievy 
While down the wretched vital part is driven ? 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n. 



*coO:«rrS<OOo«" 



On being asJcedy is)hy GOD had made Miss DAVIS 
so little a7id Mrs '^'^'^ so large. 

Written on a Pane of Glafs in the Inn at Moffat. 

ASK why God made the gem so small. 
An' why so huge the granite ? 
Because God meant mankind should set 
That higher value on it. 



Si2 



ELEGY 



CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, 



A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS 
CONORS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD ! 



But now his radiant course is run. 
For Matthew^ s course "was bright; 

His soul was like the glorious sim^ 
A matchless Heavenly Light ! 



O DEATH ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie. 

O'er hurcheon hides. 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane, he's gane T he's frae us torn. 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Pylatthew, Nature's sel shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 



SIS 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns. 

Where Echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye hazly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din. 
Or foaming, Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flov/'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At e'en, when beans their fragrance shed, 

r th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade. 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood j 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud 5 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever ! 
Dd 



3U 

Mourn, saoty coots, and speckled teals : 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels 

Rair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o* day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay. 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r. 
In some auld tree, or eldritch towV, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 

O, rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe? 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever &ovr. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
The gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear. 

For him that's dead ! 



S15 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast. 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, Thou Sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, Empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 

My Matthew mourn [ 
For through your orbs he's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return* 

O, Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around ! 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait. 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief. 

And truth I shall relate, man ; 
I tell nae common tale o' grief. 

For Matthew was a great man. 
Dd 2 



316 

If thou uncommon merit hast. 

Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man ;. 

A look of pity hither cast. 

For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodg^r art, 

That passest by this grave, man. 

There mouldei^s here a gallant heart ; 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise,. 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at Friendship's sacred ca' 

Wad life itself resign, man ; 
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa'. 

For Matthew w^as a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man j 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain. 
For Matthew v/as a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire> 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man i 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire. 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin sot. 

To blame poor Matthew, dare, man ^, 
May dool and sorrow be his lot. 

For Matthew was. a rare man. 



^9 



317 



DELIJ. 



AN ODE. 



— a^i^fSBS**^ 



FAIR the face of orient day. 
Fair the tints of op'ning rose 5 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 



Sweet the Lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
But, Delia, more delightful still. 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 



The flower-enamcur'd busy Bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip j 



But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ! 
O let me steal one liquid kiss ! 
For Oh ! my soul is parch'd with love 
Dd 3 



818 

LINES 

SENT TO 

Sir John Whiteford, of Whiteford, Bart. 

WITH THE POEM 

*^ The Lament for James Earl of Glencairn^^ 



THOU, who thy honor as thy God rever'st, 
Who, save thy rniruTs repvoachy nought earthly 

fear'st, 
To thee this votive offering I impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patt^on lov'd ; 
His worth, his honor, all the world approv'd. 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone. 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world 

unknown.. 



ON MISS J. SCOTT, 

Of Ecclefecha?!. 

^H ! had each Scot of ancient timesj. 
Been Jeany Scott, as thou art, 
The bravest heart on English ground^. 
Had yielded like a coward. 



919' 



LETTER 



T T, GL— NC— R. 



**oo-;*t»-ooo« 



AULD com'rade dear and brither sinner,. 
How's a' the folk about Gl — nc — r ? 
How do you tills blae eastlin win', 
That's like to blaw a body blin' ? 
For me my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen'd : 
I've sent you here, by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage Philosophers to glimpse on ! 
Reid, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
An' Smith, to common sense appealing. 
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled, 
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled, 
Till witli their Logic-jargon tir'd. 
An' in the depth of science mir'd. 
To common sense th^y now appeal. 
What wives an' wabsters see an' feel : 
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly^ 
Peruse them an' return them quickly; 
For now Fm growi sae cursed douse, 
I pray an' ponder I dt the house. 
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin. 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston 5. 



S20 

Till by an' by, if I haud on, 
ril grunt a real Gospel groan : 
Already I begin to try it. 
To cast my een up like a Pyet, 
When by the gun she tumbles o'er. 
Fluttering an' gasping in her gore : 
Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burning an' a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale of honest men ; 
When bending down with auld grey hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares. 
May he who made him still support him, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him« 

His worthy fam'ly, far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear. 

My auld school-fellow, Preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason billie. 
An* Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy, 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither. 
Just five-and-forty years thegither ! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly, 
An' L — d, remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock ; 
An' next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy,. 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
An' her kind stars hae airted till her, 
A guid chiel wi' a pickle siller : 



3^1 

My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 

To cousin Kate an' sister Janet, 

Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious ; 

For, faith, they'll ablins fin' them fashious : 

To grant a heart is fairly civil. 

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil ! 

An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 1 

May guardian angels tak a spell, r 

An' steer you seven miles south o' hell v J 

But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 

May ye get mony a merry story, 

Mony a laugh and mony a drink, 

An' ay a neugh o' needfu' clink. 

Now, fare ye weel, an' joy be wi* you, 
For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'U fin' him just an honest man : 
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, 
Your's, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranteiu 



LINES 

Wintten extempore in a Ladi/s Pocket-Book.. 

GRANT me, indulgent Heav'h, that I may live 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give ; 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air. 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 



322 

LINES 

Written on Whidows of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries. 

THE greybeard, old wisdom, may boast of his 
treasures, 
Give me with gay folly to live 5 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures. 
But folly has raptures to give. 



I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen u& ^ 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, 
Life-giving wars of Venus. 

The deities that I adore, 

Are social Peace and Plenty, 

I'm better pleas'd to make one more^ 
Than be the death of twenty. 



My bottle is my holy pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care an' dool ^ 

And pleasure is a wanton trout. 

An' ye drink it, ye'U find him out. 



In politics if thou would'st mix. 
And mean thy fortunes be -, 

Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind, 
Let great folks hear and see. 



S2S 



o^ 



Readings in a Newspaper j the Death of J-- 



M^L > Esq. Brother to a young Lady^ 

a particular Friend of the Author* s* 

SAD thy tale, thou idle page, 
And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 
From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 

The morning rose may blow ; 
But cold successive noon -tide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That Nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was form'd. 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone, 

Can heal the wound He gave ; 
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 

To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossom's there shall blow, 

And fear no withering blast \ 
There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 



32* 
TO 

MISS C**^^**% A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

Written on a blank Leaf of a Booky presented t^ 
her by the Author. 



BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely Flow'r, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath. 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights 1 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol tocr fiercely viev/ 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem. 
Richly deck thy native stem ^ 
Till some ev'ning, sober, calm. 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm. 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honors round, 
And resign to parent Earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth* 



325 



Written with a Pencil over the Chim^et 

Piece, in the Parlour of the Inn at 

Kenmore, Taymouth. 



ADMIRING Nature In her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep. 
My savage journey, curious, I pursue. 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides. 
The woods, wlld-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides, 
Th' outstretching lake, Imbosom'd 'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay meandering sweet in Infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd In Nature's native taste i 
The hillocks dropt In Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
The village glittering in the noon-tide beam — 

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell. 

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' Incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods—* 

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre. 
And look through Nature with creative fire •, 
Hei*e, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcU'd, 
Misfortune's Ughten'd steps might wander wild ; 
Ee 



- 82S 

And Disappointment, In these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to sooth her bitter rankling wounds ; 
Here heart-struck Grief, might heav'nward stretch 

her scan, 
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



At a Meeting of the Dumfriesshire Volunteers^ held 

to commemorate the Anniversary of Rodneifs 

Victory, April I2thy 1782, Burns was called 

upon for a Song, instead of which he delivered the 

follovoing Lines extempore, 

INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast. 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that 
we lost : 

That we lost, did I say, nay, by heav'n that we found. 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the King, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing \ 
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd. 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd ; 
And who wou'd to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 



327 



THE 



HENPECK'D HUSBAND. 



CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife. 
Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell v 
Who dreads a curtain-lecture worse than hell. 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
Fd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart •, 
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b — h. 



EPITAPH, 
On a Henpeck'd Country Squire. 

AS father Adam first was fooPd, 
A case that's still too common, 
Here lies a man a woman rul'd,. 
The devil rul'd the woman. 
Ee 2 



S28 

EPIGRAM 
On said Occasion. 



O Death, hadst thou but spar'd his life. 
Whom we, this day, lament ! 
We freely wad exchanged the Wifey 
An' a' been weel content. 

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his grafF, 

The swap we yet will do't ; 
Tak thou the Carlin's carcase afF, 

Thou'se get the saul o' boot. 



ANOTHER. 

ONE Queen Artemisa, as old stories tell, 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so 
well. 
In respect for the love and aiFection he'd shewn her, 
She reduced him to dust, and she drank up the 
powder* 

But Queen N*****^*, of a different complexion. 
When caird on to order the fun'ral direction. 
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence. 
Not to show her respect, but — to save the ea^pence. 



329 

GRACES. 

BEFORE MEAT. 

OTHOU, who kindly dost provide 
For ev'ry creature's want ; 
We bless thee, God of nature wide, 
For this thy goodness lent. 

And if it please thee, Heav'nly Guide, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted or deny'd, 

Lord bless us' with content. 



AFTER MEAT. 

O THOU, in whom we live and move. 
Who mad'st the sea and shore. 

Thy goodness constantly we prove. 
And grateful would adore. 

And if it please thee, PowV above. 
Still grant us, with such store. 

The Frieyid we trust; the Fair we love; 
And we desire no more. 



A GRACE. 
L — D, we thank an' thee adore 

For temporal gifts we little merit •, 
At present we will ask no more, 
Let William Hislop give the spirit. 
Ee3 



530 

EPITAPHS. 

On a celebrated Ruling Elder. 

HERE Sowter ^'^^^ in death does sleep ; 
To H-11, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 
He'll haud it weel thegither. 



On a noisy Polemic, 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : 

O Death ! it's my opinion. 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' b-tch 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



On D C . 

Here lies in earth a root o' H-II, 
Set by the Deil's ain dibble ; 

This worthless body d d himsel. 
To save the L — d the trouble. 



On J—n B—yy Writer y D-^'^^s^ 

Here lies J — n B — ^y, honest man / 
Cheat him, Devil, iif you can. 



331 



For R. A. Esq. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name J 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. 



For G. H. Esq. 

The poor man weeps — here G n sleeps. 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with sicch as he, where'er he be. 
May I be sav'd or d d / 



On a Person nicknamed the Marquisy "mho desired 
Burns to write one on him. 

Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were 

shamm'd, 
If ever he rise, it will be to be d 'd. 



On Walter S • 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave. 
That the worms ev'n d ■ -^d him 

When laid in his grave, 
«< In his flesh there's a famine,'* 

A starv'd reptile cries : 
«« An' his heart is rank poison/* 

Another replies. 



S32 



On a Friend. 



An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his Image blest, 
The friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth : 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd. 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd : 
If there's another world, he lives in bliss j 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 



For the Author's Father. 

O Y^ whose cheek the tear of pity stains. 

Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend ! 
Here lie the loving Husband's dear remains. 

The tender Father, and the gen'rous Friend. 
The Pitying heart that felt for human Woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human Pride; 
The Friend of Man, to Vice alone a Foe •, 

**f For ev'n his failings lean'd to Virtue's side."* 



* Goldsmith, 



333 



BUBNS' EPITAPH, bt himsuf. 

IS there a whim-inspired fool, 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song, 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 

.%:,,...• . Qj pass not by! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong. 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear. 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career. 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, through the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor Inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn and wise to know. 
And keenly felt the friendly glow. 

And softei^Jlamei 
But thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stain'd his name ! 



Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-controtdj 

Is Wisdom's root^ 



To Mr S^^Ey on refusing to dine mfh hiniy after 
having heeii promised the first of Company ^ and 
the first of Cookery. 

NO more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
.And cook'ry the first in the nation : 
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit. 
Is proof to all other teipptation. 



To Mr S^^Ey mth a present of a dozen of Porter^ 

O had the malt thy strength of mind. 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit ; 
^Twere drink for first of human kind, 

A gift that e'en for S'^^^e were fit. 



335 



POEM, 



Addressed to Mr Mitehelly Collector of Excise^ 
DumfrieSi 1796. 



FRIEND of the poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee might beg or steal ; 
Alake, alake the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel 

In my poor pouches. 



I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 

That one pound one, I sairly want it \ 

If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind •, 
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted 

I'd bear't in mind. 



So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loaning 

To thee and thine 5 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 



336 

POSTSCRIPT. 

TeVe heard this while how I've been licket, 
And by fell death was nearly nicket ; 
Grim loon ! he gat me by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turned a neuk. 

But by that health, Fve got a share o't, 
And by that life, Fm promised mair o't, 
My hale and weel I'll take a care o't 

A tentier way : 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o't 

For ance and ay. 




337 
Copy of a Poetical Address 

TO 

Mr WILLIAM TYTLER, 

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD*S PICTURE. 



REVEREND defender of beauteous Stuart, 
Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
A name, which to love was the mark of a true heart, 
But now 'tis despised and neglected : 

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if the wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scofEngly slight it. 

Still in prayers for K™ G— , I most heartily join, 
The Q — , and the rest of the gentry, 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 
Their title's avow'd by my country* 
Ff 



838 

But loyalty truce ! we're on dangerous ground, 
Who knows how the fashions may alter. 

The doctrine, to day, that is loyalty sound. 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard. 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now lifers chilly ev'ning dim shades on your eye, 
And ushers the long dreary night ; 

But you like the star that athwartgilds the sky. 
Your course to the latest is bright. 




839 



BATTLE OF SHERIFF MUIR. 

Between the Duke of Argyle and the Earl 

OF Mar. 



^^-^c*®-* 



<^ y^ CAM ye here the fight to shun, 

V^ " Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
" Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

" And did the battle see, man !" 
I saw the battle, sair and tough. 
And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh, 
My heart for fear gae sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 



The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd. 

And mony a bouk did fa', man : 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broadswords clash'd, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 

'Till fev men died awa, man. 
Ff 2 



340 

But had you seen the philibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews, man, 
When in the teeth they dar'd our whig% 

And covenant true blues, man : 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When bayonets oppos'd the targe. 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath. 

They fled like frighted daos, man. 

" O how dell. Tarn, can that be true ? 

" The chace gaed frae the north, man y 
" I saw mysel, they did pursue 

^* The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
« And at Dunblane in my ain sight, 
" They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
*' And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight y. 
*^ But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut ; 
^« And mony a huntit, poor red-coat, 

<< For fear amaist did swarf, man.'* 



My sister Kate cam up the gate 
Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swoor she saw some rebels run 
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill. 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebor's blood to spill ; 
For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose ; all crying woes^. 
And so it goes you see, man^ 



341 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen, 
Amang the Highland clans, man j 

I fear my lord Panmure is slain, , 
Or fallen in whiggish hands, man : 

Now wad ye sing this double fight. 

Some fell for wrang, and some for right ; 

But mony bade the world guid-night ; 

Then ye may tell, how pell and mell. 

By red claymores, and muskets knell, 

Wi' dying yell, the tories fell. 
And whigs to hell did flee, man. 

Ff3 



S42 



The following Poem was written to a Gen- 
tleman WHO had sent him a News-paper^ 

AND 0FFEREI> him TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF 
EXPENCE^ 



••oO--'*l!^-C 



KIND Sir, I've read your paper through^ 
And faith, to me, 'twas really new ! 
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted ? 
This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted. 
To ken what French mischief was brewin* ^ 
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin^ ; 
That vile doup-skelper. Emperor Joseph^ 
If Venus yet had got his nose offy 
Or how the collieshangie works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks ^ 
Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
Would play anither Charles the twalt : 
If Denmark, any body spak o't ;. 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't ; 
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin^ ^ 
How libbet Italy was singin' ; 
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 
Or how our merry lads at hame> 
In Britain^s court kept up the game : 
How Royal George^ the Lord leuk o'er bina f 
Was managing St Stephen's q^uorum; 



345 

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin*. 
Or glaikit Charh'e got his nieve in; 
How daddie Burke the plea was cookings 
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukxn' ; 
How cesses, stents, and fees, were rax'd^ 
Or if bare a: — yet were tax'd ; 
The news o*^ princes, dukes, and earls, 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls •, 
If that daft buckie, Geordie W***s, 
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails. 
Or if he was grown outUns douser, 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. 
A' this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 
So gratefu', back your news I send you, 
And pray, a*^ guid things may attend you f 




S4t 

POEM 

ON PASTORAL POETRY. 



HAIL Posie ! thou Nymph reserved ! 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 

'Mang heaps o* clavers ; 
And och ! owre aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

Mid a' thy favors ! 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud, the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriage ? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches. 

That ape their betters. 



us 

In this braw age o' wit and lear. 
Will nane the shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air, 

And rural grace 5, 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish eallan ! 
There's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan \ 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ^ 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tamtallan, 

But thou's for ever.. 

Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines ^ 

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines^ 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell t 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes. 
Or trots by hazzelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray^ 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel ; 

Nae bombast spates a' nonesense swell ; 

Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spelt 

O' witchin' love. 
That charm, that can the strongest quell. 

The sternest move^ 



546 

SKETCH. 
NEW YEAR'S DAY. 

TO MRS DUNLOP. 



THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain. 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : — 
I see the old, bald-pated fallow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine. 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir. 

In vain assail him with their prayer, 

Deaf as my Friend, he sees them press, 

Nor makes the hour one moment less. 

Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 

The happy tenants share his rounds ; 

Coila's fair Rachel's care to day,"^ 

And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray •,) 

From housewife cares a minute borrow — 

— ^That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow— 

And join with me a moralizing. 

This day, propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 

" Another year is gone for ever." 

* This young lady was drawing a pi dure of Coila, from the 
vi&ion. 



S47 

And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
" The passing moment's all we rest on !" 
Rest on — for what ? what do we hear ? 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
Will time, amus'd with proverb'd lore. 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may — a few years must — 
Repose us in the silent dust. 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! 
The voice of nature loudly cries. 
And many a message from the skies. 
That something in us never dies : 
That on this frail, uncertain state. 
Hang matters of eternal weight : 
That future-life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
"Whether as heavenly glory bright. 
Or dark as misery's woeful night — 
Since then, my honor'd, first of friends, 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us th' important now employ. 
And live as those who never die. 
Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd. 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 
A sight pale envy to convulse) 
Others now claim your chief regard 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



! 



34« 

MONODY, 

ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. 

HOW cold IS that bosom which folly once fired. 
How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately 
glistened : 
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, 
How dull is that ear which to flatt'ry so listened. 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection removed ; 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate. 

Thou died'st unwept as thou lived'st unloved. 

Loves, graces, and virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear ; 
But come, all ye offspring of folly so true, 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bien 

We'll search through the garden for each silly flower, 
We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed; 

But chiefly the nettle so typical, shower. 

For none e'er approached her but rued the rash 
deed. 

Well sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay ; 

Here vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning contempt shall redeem from his 
ire. 



349 



THE EPITAPH. 



Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 
What once was a butterfly gay in life's beam ; 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



»©«d®[(^^I^®©»* 



POETICAL INSCRIPTION, 



AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, 

At Kerrouchtryi the Seat of Mr Heron^ turitten in 
Summer, 1795. 



THOU of an independent mind 
With soul resolv'd, with soul resigned 
Prepar'd power's proudest frown to brave. 
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; 
Virtue alone who dost revere. 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear. 
Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



350 



IMPROPTU, 

On Mrs 's Birth Day^ Uli November ^ 179S. 



»e®oi^|®ee«« 



OLD winter with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred ; 
What have I done of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow : 
My dismal months no joys are crowning. 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 



Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 

To counterbalance all this evil ; 

Give me, and Fve no more to say. 

Give me Maria's natal day ! 

That brilliant gift will so enrich me. 

Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me ? 

'Tis done ! says Jove ; so ends my story, 

And winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



351 



POEM ON LIFE, 
Addressed to Colonel De Peyster^ Dumfrie&. 



•<©0O:Jj^< 



MY honored colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the poet^s weal ^ 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 

Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it 5 

And fortune favor worth and merit. 

As they deserve t 
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret : 

Syne wha would starve ?) 

Dame life, tho' fiction out may trick her. 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her 5 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker, 

Fve found her still, 
Ay wavering like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ilL 

Then that curst carmagnole auld Satan, 
Watches, like bawd'rons by a rattan, 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claute on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on. 

He's off like fire. 
Gg2 



352 

Ah ! Nick, ah Nick, it is na fair, 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft •, 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's damned waft. 

Poor man the flie, aft bizzes bye. 
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh. 
Thy auld damned elbow yeuks wi' joy. 

And hellish pleasure j 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon heels o'er gowdie ! in he bangs, 
And like a sheep-head on the tangs, 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murd'ring wrestle. 
As dangling in the wind he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this draunting drivel, 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

. I quat my pen : 

The Lord preserve us frae the devil ! 

Amen ! amen ! 



35a 

TO 
MY DEAR AND MUCH HONORED FRIEND 

Mrs DtJNLOPy of Dunlop. 



ON SENSIBILITY. 



SENSIBILITY how charming, 
Th(niy my friend^ canst truly tell \ 
But distress, with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lilly, 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 
See it prostrate on the clay^ 

Hear the wood lark charm the forest, 

Telling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 

To each pirate of the skies* 

Dearly bought, the hidden treasure, 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 
GgS 



SSi 



TO A 



YOUNG LADY, 
MISS JESSY L , DUMFRIES, 

WITH BOOKS WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER. 



THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair. 
And with them take the poet's prayer 5 
That fate may, in her fairest page. 
With ev'ry kindliest, best presage. 
Of future bliss, enroll thy name : 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare ; 
All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 



355 



TO 



ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. 

OF FINTRY, 

On receiving a Favour* 



I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns ! 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns. 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

iThou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night ; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roll to me, along your wand'ring spheres. 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 



356 



A FIS^ION. 



'•♦MH^*^**^ 



AS I stood by yon roofless tower, 
Where th' wa'-flower scents the dewy air^ 
Where th' howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care. 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 

The stars they shot alang the sky ; 
The fox was howling on the hill. 

And the distant-echoing glens reply^ 

The stream adown its hazelly path. 

Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,, 
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 

Wase distant-roaring swells and fa*s. 

The cauld blue north was streaming fortk 

Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din j 
Athort the lift they start and shift. 

Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 



By heedless chance I turned mine eyes. 
And, by the moon-beam, shook, to see 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
-Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 



Had I a statue been o' stane, 

His darin' look had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 
The sacred poesy — Libertie ! 

x\nd frae his harp sic strains did flow. 

Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear ; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear. 

He sang wi' joy his former day, 

He weeping waiFd his latter times j 

But what he said it was nae play, 
I winna ventur't in my rhymes. 




S5& 

ADDRESS 
TO A LADY. 



OH, wert thou in the cauld blast, 
On yonder lea, on yonder lea \ 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

rd shelter thee, Fd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw^ 
Thy bield should be my bosom^ 
To share it a', to share it a*. 



Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare^ 
The desart were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there^ 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign \ 
The brightest jewel in my crown, 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queeno. 



35^ 

WRITTEN ON 

The ^Uh January y 1793, 
THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR, 

ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK. 



SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, 
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain, 
See aged winter 'mid his surly reign, 
At thy blythe carol clears his furrow'd brow. 

So in lone poverty's dominion drear, 

Sits meek content with light, unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part. 

Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, author of this op'ning day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skie^; 

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 
What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care, 
The mite high heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee 
I'll share. 



860 



ON THE 



DEATH OF Mr RIDDEL. 



mmCC^-mi^O<:>^m 



NO more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 
Nor pour your descant grating on my ear : 
Thou young-eyed spring, thy charms I cannot 
bear : 
More welcome were to me grim winter's wildest 
roar. 



How can ye please, ye flowers, with all your dies ? 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 
How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 

That strain pours round th' untimely tomb where 
Riddel lies. 



^ 



361 



IFritten in a Wrapper zjiclosing a Letter to 

Capt. Grose^ to be left with Mr 

Cardonnely Antiquarian. 



*-'¥. '3(m2,^m&ff» \^ ' 



Tune, — « Sir John Malcdm.^^ 



KEN ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 
IgOj Sfago. 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 
Iram^ ccn^aniy dago. 



Is he South, or is he North ? 

JgOy Ss ago. 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

IraMy corarUy dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 

IgOy Sf ago. 
And eaten hke a weather-haggis ? 

Iramy corauy dago. 



Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 

Igo, ^ago. 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame ? 

Iranif coraiUy dago. 
Hh 



362 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him ! 

IgOj Sf ago. 
As for the deil he daur na steer him, 

Irarriy corurriy dago. 

But please transmit th' inclosed letter, 

Igoy Sr ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram^ coraniy dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store. 

The vera stanes that Adam bore, 
Iraniy coroMy dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession ; 

IgOy 8^ ago. 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

L^amy corarriy dago. 




36S 
EXTEMPOREy 

ON THE LATE 

Mr WILLIAM SMELLIE, 

Author of the Philosophy of Natural History y and 

Member of the Antiquarian and Pcoyal 

Societies of Edinburgh^ 



To Crochallan came* 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same ; 
JHis bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night. 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd 
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd; 
Yet tho' his caustick wit was biting, rude. 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 

Hh2 



♦ Mr Smellie, and our poet, were both members of a club 
in Edinburgh, under the name of Crochallan Fencibles. 



364. 
Sent to a Gentleman "whom he had offended. 



THE friend whom wild from wisdom's way. 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 
(Not moony madness more astray) 

Who but deplores that hapless friend ? 

Mine was the insensate frenzied part, 
Ah, why should I such scenes outlive I 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 

A verse composed and repeated by BURNS to the 
Master of the house on talcing leave at a place in 
the Highlands^ "where he had been hospitably en- 
tertained. 

"HEN death's dark stream I ferry o'ei:, 
A time that surely shall come \ 
In heaven itself, I'll ask no more. 
Than just a HigbJand welcome. 



SONGS. 



SONG. 
THE LEA^RIG. 



WHEN o'er the hills the eastern star, 
Tells bughtin time is near, my jo \ 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field, 
Returns sae dowf and weary O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
ril meet thee on the lea-rig, 
My ain kind dearie O. 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 

Fd rove, and ne'er be eerie O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee. 

My ain kind dearie O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild. 

And I were ne'er sae wearie O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

The hunter loe's the morning sun. 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Alang the burn to steer, my jo 5 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey. 

It maks my heart sae cheery O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie O. 

KhS 



D 



56€ 

SONG. 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

UNCAN Gray came here to woo, ha, ha, the 
wooing o't, 

On new-year's day when we were fou, ha, ha, the 
wooing o't ; 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Dtincan stand abeigh, ha^ ha^ the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleach'd, and Duncan pray'd, ha, ha, the 
woding o't, 

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Duncan sighed baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith blear'd and blin', 

Spak o' loyping o'er a Hn, ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Time and chance are but a tide, ha, ha, the wooing 

o't, 
Slighted love is sair to bide, ha, ha, the wooing o!t; 

Shall I like a fool, quo' he, 

For a haughty hussy die ; 
She may gae to France for me, ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

How it comes let Doctors tell, ha, ha, the wooing o't, 

Meg grew sick, as he grew well, ha, ha, the wooing 

o't. 

Something in her bosom wrings. 

For relief a sigh she brings. 

And oh ! her een they spak sic things, ha, ha, the 

wooing o't. 

Duncan was a lad of grace, ha, ha, the wooing o'tj, 
Maggy's was a ticklish case, ha, ha, the wooing o't, 

Duncan could not be her death, 

Sv/elling pity smoor'd his wrath; 
Now they're crouse and canty baith, ha, -ha, tjie 
wooing o't. 



567 
SONG. 

Tane, — Corn rigs are bonie, 

IT was upon a Lammas night. 
When corn rigs are bonie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,. 

Till 'tween the late and early j 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, 
To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still. 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely j 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heaa't was beating rarely : 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright^i 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She ay shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear y 
I hae been merry drinkin' y 

I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear j 
I liae been happy tliinkin' ; 



368 

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 

That happy night was worth them a', 
Amang the rigs o' barley. 

CHORUS. 

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs. 
An' corn rigs are bonie : 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



•— »Vim*i^^i«>— 



SONG. 



COMPOSED IN AUGUST. 

Tune, — I had a Tiorse^ I had nae mair. 

NOW westlin winds, and slaught'ring guns, 
Bring Autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The Moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary Farmer •, 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night- 
To muse upon my Charmer. 

The Partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The Plover loves the mountains \ 
The Woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring Hern the fountains : 



$69 

Thro' lofty groves the Cushat roves 
The path of man to shun it j 

The hazel bush overhangs the Thrush, 
The spreading thorn the Linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find. 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine ; 

Some solitary wander : 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The Sportsman's joy, the murd'ring crj. 

The flutt'rijig, gory pinion ! 

But Peggy dear, the ev'ning^s clear, 

Thick flies the skimming Swallow; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view. 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come, let us stray our gladsome way. 

And view the charms of Nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruked thorn. 

And ev'ry happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk. 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
ril grasp thy waist, and fondly press^t, 

Swear how I love thee dearly ; 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rsj^ 

Not Autumn to the Farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me. 

My fair, my lovely Charmqr ! 



S70 

SONG. 

, Tane, — My Name, 0. 

BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 
The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And rU awa to Nanie, O. 

The westlin' wind blaws loud an' shrill ; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O 5 
But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. 

My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young, 
Nae artfu' wiles to win ve, O : 

May ill befa' the flatt'ring tongue 
That would beguile my Nanie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 

As spotless as she's bonie, O ; 
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, 

Nae purer is than Nanie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O, 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 

An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. 
My thoughts are a', my Nanie, O- 



371 

Our auld Guldman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O ; 

But Fm as blythe that bauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nanie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O j 

Nae ither care in life have I, 

But live, an' love my Nanie, O. 



SONG. 

Tune, — Jockei/s Grey Breeks, 

AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CHORUS*. 

And maun I still on Menief doat, 
A7id hear the scorn that's in her e*e ! 

For ifsjet^ jet blacky aii! it^s like a hawky 
All' it "doinna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw. 

In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 
In vain to me, in glen or shaw. 

The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 

And maun I stilly 4^. 

• This Chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in 
Edinburgh, a particular friend of the Author's. 

f Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamnt, 



372 

The merry Ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie Seedsman stalks. 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 

And maun J stilly S^c. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims. 
And ev'ry thing is blest but I. 

And maun I stilly Sfc^ 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap. 
And owre the moorlands whistles shrill, 

Wi' wild, unequal, wandVing step, 
I meet him on the dewy-hilL 

And maun I stilly Sfc. 

And when the lark, ^tween light and dark, 
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 

And maun I stilly Sfc» 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
When Nature all is sad like me ! 

And maun I still on Menie doaty 
And bear the scorn thafs in her e'e ! 

For ifsjety jet blacky arU it's like a ha*mky 
An' it mnna let a body be. 



S7S 
GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

A FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS. 

Gf'een grow the rashes^ O; 
Green grc/vo the rashesy O; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spendy 
Are spent amang the lassesy 0. 

There's nought but care on ev*ry han'. 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O : 
What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 

Green gr&Wy Sfc, 

The war'ly race may riches chace, 
An' riches still may fly them, O \ 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast. 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Green grow, SfC. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en. 

My arms about my Dearie, O ; 
An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 

Green grow, SfC. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 

Ye're nought but senseless asses, O : 
The wisest Man the warl' e'er saw. 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 

Gree7i grow, SfC. 
li 



374 



Auld Nature swears, the lovely Dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her prentice han' she try'd on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 

Green growy SfC. 



# # 



SONG. 

Tnney—Itoslin Castle. 

THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murkey cloud is foul with rain, 
I see It driving o'er the plain ; 
The Hunter now has left the moor. 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure. 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ai/r. 

The autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky. 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave. 
Where many a danger I must dare. 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ai/r> 



375 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Tho' Death in ev'ry shape appear. 
The Wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierced with many a wound : 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear. 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coilah hills and dales. 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves. 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those — 
The bursting tears my heart declare. 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr. 



SONG. 

Tune^ — Gilder oy. 

FROM thee, Eliza^ I must go. 
And from my native shore : 
The cruel fates between us throw, 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my Love and me. 
They never, never can divide 
My heart and soul from thee : 
Ii2 



376 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza ^ear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza^ is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



THE 

FAREWELL. 

ro THE BRETHREN OF ST JAMES*s LODGE, 
TAIIBQLTON. 

Tune, — Goodnighty and joy he "wi^ you a\ 

ADIEU ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 
Dear brothers of the mystic tye ! 
Ye favoured, enlighterCd Few, 

Companions of my social joy : 
The' I to foreign lands must hie. 
Pursuing Fortune's slipp'ry ba'. 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 
ril mind you still, tho' far avva'. 

Oft have I met your social Band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night ^ 

Oft, honour'd with supreme command^ 
Presided o'er the Sons of light ; 



377 

And by that Hieroglyphic bright. 

Which none but Craftsmen ever saw ! 

Strong Mem'ry on my heart shall write 
Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

May Freedom, Harmony, and Love, 

Unite you in the grand design^ 
Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine \ 
That you may keep th' unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till Order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 

And You farewell ! whose merits claim. 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honoured, noble Name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, ' 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One roundy I ask it with a tear. 

To him, the Bard thafsfar a'pca\ 



SONG. 

The Big Bellied Bottle. 

Tune, — Prepare, my dear brethren to the tavern 
lefsjly, S^c. 

NO Churchman am I for to rail and to write. 
No Statesman nor Soldier to plot or to fight,. 
No sly Man of Business contriving a snare, 
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care, 
lis 



S78 

The I^eer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 

I scorn not the Peasant, tho' ever so low ; 

But a ckib of good fellows, like those that are here^ 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes tlie Squire on his brother — his horse v 
There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse y 
But see you the Crown how it waves in the air. 
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly j 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddl'diup stairs. 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

*< Life's cares they are comforts !"* — a maxim laid 

down 
By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the 

black gown ^ 
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair j 
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of a care. 

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge. 

Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow. 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May ev'ry true brother of th' Compass and Square 
Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care. 

* Young's Night Thoughts. 



S79 

SONG. 

A Mans a Man^ for a' that. 

IS there for honest poverty, 
Wha hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward slave we pass him by. 

And dare be poor, for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toils obscure, an' a' that. 
The rank is but the guinea stamp, 
The man's the gowd, for a' that. 

What though on hamely fare we dine. 

Wear hodden grey, and a' that ? 
Gie fools their silk, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man, for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel shew, an' a' that ; 
An honest man, though ne'er sae poor^ 

Is chief o' men, for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts and stares, and a' that, 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a cuif, for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His ribband, star, and a' that ; 
A man of independent mind. 

Can look, and laugh at a' that. 

The king can mak a belted knight, 
A marquis, duke, and a' that. 

An honest man's aboon his might, 
Guid faith he mann^ fa' that ! 



S80 

For a' that, and a' that, 
His dignities, and a' that : 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are grander far than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it shall, for a' that ; 
That sense an' worth o'er a' the earth. 

Shall bear the gree, and a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's comin' yet, for a' that ; 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be, for a' that. 



SONG. 

Written and sung at a General Meeting of the 
Excise-Officers in Scotland. 

THE de'Il cam fiddling thro' the town. 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ; 
And ilka auld wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun, 
" We wish you luck o' the prize man. 

CHORUS. 

« We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink, 
« We'll dance and sing and rejoice man j 
<« And mony thanks to the muckle black de'il, 
« That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. 



381 

" There's threesome reels, and foursome reels^ 
" There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 
'* But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian' 
«« Was the de'il's awa wi' the Exciseman. 

CHORUJ. 

« We'll mak our maut, &c." 



SONG. 

The Lass that made the Bed to me. 

WHEN January winds were blawing cauld. 
As to the north I bent my way, 
The darksome night did me enfauld> 
I kend na whare to lodge till day ; 
By my guid luck a lass I met. 

Just in the middle of my care, 
And kindly she did me invite. 
To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 

And thank'd her for her courtesie \ 
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 

And bad her mak abed for me : 
She made the bed both large and wide, 

Wi' twa white hands she spread it dov/n 5 
She put the cup to her rosy lips, 

And drank, « Young man now sleep ye sound,'* 



382 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 

And frae my chamber went wi' speed : 
But I caird her quickly back again. 

To lay some mair below my head. 
A cod she laid below my head. 

And served me wi' due respect ; 
And to salute her wi' a kiss, 

I put my arms about her neck. 

Haud afF your hands, young man, she says. 

And dinna sae uncivil be ; 
Gif ye hae ony luve for me, 

wrang na my virginity ! 

Her hair was like the links o* gowd. 

Her teeth were like the ivory, 
Her cheeks like lillies dipt in wine. 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see. 
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again, 

And ay she wist nay what to say ; 
I laid her 'tv/een me and the wa', 

The lassie thought nae lang till day. 

Upon the morrow when we raise, 

1 thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
But ay she blush'd, and ay she sigh'd, 

" Alas ! young man, ye've ruin'd me.'* 
I clasp'd her waist and kiss'd her syne. 

While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e j 
I said, " My lassie dinna cry, 

^^ For ye ay shall mak the bed to me." 



383 

She took her mither's holland sheets. 

And made them a' In sarks to me ; 
Blythe and merry may she be, 

The lass that made the bed to me ; 
The bonie lass made the bed to me, 

The braw lass made the bed to me, 
ril ne'er forsake till the day I die. 

The lass that made the bed to me. 



SONG. 

Of (I the Ai^ts the JVin can blaw. 

OF a' the arts the win' can blaw, I dearly hke 
the west, 
For there the bonny lassie lives, the lass that I lo'e 

best •, 
Tho' wild w^oods grow, and rivers row, wl' mony a 

hill between, 
Baith day an' night my fancy's flight Is ever wl' my 
Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, sae lovely, sweet, an* 

fair, 
I hear her voice in ilka bird, wi' music charm the 

air J 
There's not a bonny flower that springs by fountain, 

shaw, or green. 
Nor yet a bonny bird that siilgs, but minds me o' my 

Jean. 



384? 



SONG. 

Here awa^ there awa^ %c. 

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame ; 
Come to my bosom, my ain only deary, 

Tell me thou bring'st me, my Willie, the same. 

Winter winds blew, loud and cauld, at our* parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e ; 

Welcome, now Simmer, and welcome, my Willie ; 
The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers. 
How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 

Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! 
And waft my dear Laddie ance mair to my arms. 

But ah, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, 
Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main. 

May I never see it, may I never trow it. 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 

SONG. 

On a Bank of Flowers. 

ON a bank of flowers one summer's day, 
For summer lightly dress'd. 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay. 
With love and sleep oppress'd. 



When Willy, wand'ring thro' the wood, 
Who for her favour oft had su'd, 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
And trembl'd when he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd. 

Were seal'd in soft repose, 
Her lips still as the fragrant breath'd. 

It richer dy'd the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly press'd. 

Wild wanton kiss'd her rival breast : 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 

His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze. 

Her tender limbs embrace. 
Her lovely form, her native ease. 

All harmony and grace. 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 

A flatt'ring ardent kiss he stole : 
He gaz'd, hewish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd. 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake. 

On fear inspired wings ; 
So Nelly startlingj half awake. 

Away affrighted sprmgs. 
But Willy followed as he should. 

He overtook her in the wood, 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 

Forgiving all and good. 
Kk 



386 



SONG. 

/ gaed a waefu Gate yestreen, 

IGAED a waefu' gate yestreen, 
A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonny blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, 

Her lips like roses wet wi' dew. 
Her heaving bosom lily white. 
It was her een sae bonny blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd. 

She charm'd my soul I wat na how, 
And ay the stound, the deadly wound. 

Cam frae her een sae bonny blue. 
But spare Fd speak, and spare I'd speed. 

She'll ablins listen to my vow. 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead, 

To her twa een o' bonny blue. 

SONG. 

The Banks of the Devon. 

HOW pleasant the banks of the clear winding 
Devon, 
With green spreading bushes, and flowers bloom- 
ing fair. 
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 



387 



Mild be the sun ah this sweet blushing flower. 
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew ^ 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower. 
That steals on the ev'ning each leaf to renew. 

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 

With chili hoary wing, as ye usher the dav^n j 
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn. 
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies. 

And England, triumphant, display her proud rose ; 
A fairer than either adorns the green vailies, 

Whira Devoii; sw^gt Devon^ meandering flows* 



SONG. 

The Chevalier's Lament after the Battle of 
Culloden. 

Tune, — Captain Oakain. 

THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves re- 
turning, 
The murm'ring streamlet runs clear thro' the vale, 
The primroses blow in the dews of the morning, 

And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale. 
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem sair. 
When the lingering moments are number'd bv 
care ? 
No birds sweetly singing, nor flowers gaily springing. 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 
Kk2 



388 

The deed that I dar'd, cou'd it merit their malice,, 

A king and a father to place on his throne ! 
His right are these hills, and his right are these vallies. 

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find 
none. 
But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn,. 

My brave- gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn; 
Your faith prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 

Alas ! can I make it no better return* 

SONG. 

Miss Peggy K . 

Tune, — Last Time I came der the Muir* 

YOUNG Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 
She's blushing likje the morning ; 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass. 

With pearly gems adorning. 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beamsj^ 

That gild the passing shower. 
And glitter on the crystal streams. 
And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherry's bright, 

A richer die hath grac'd them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them. 
Her smiles are like the ev'ning mild. 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
^nd little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting,. 



S8& 

Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her ; 
As blooming spring unbends the brow 

Of savage, surly winter. 
Detraction's eye no arm can join 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And spiteful envy grins in vain 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye powers of honour, love, and truth, 

From every ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame, 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name, 

With many a filial blossom. 



SONG. 

Last May a braw JVooer. 

LAST May a braw wooer came down frae the 
glen. 
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 
I said there was naething I hated like men. 

But, how could the gowk*e'er believe me, believe 

me ? 
But, how could the gowk e'er believe me ? 

He spak o' the darts o' my bonny black een. 
And vovv'd for my love he was dying ; 

I said he might die when he liked for Jean, 
But the Lord forgi'e me for lying, for lyings 
But the Lord forgi'e me for lying. 
Kk3 



390 



A weel stocket mailen, himser for the laird. 
And marriage afF han' was his proffer: 

I never let on that I kent it or car'd, 

But thought I might get a waur offer, waur offer. 
But thought I might get a waur offer. 

But what do you think ! in a fortnight or less, 
The de'il tak his haste to gang near her ; 

He up the lang lane to my black cousin Bess, 
Guess ye how the slut I coukl bear her, could bear 

her, 
Guess ye how the slut I could bear her. 

But a* the neist week as I fretted wi' care, 
I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock, 

An' wha but my fine fickle wooer was there. 

He glowr'd as he had seen a warlock, a warlock, 
He glowr'd as he had seen a wai'lock. 

But o'er my left shou'der I gied him a blink, 

Lest nebors might say I was saucy ; 
My lover he caper'd as he'd been in drink. 

An' swore that I was his dear lassy, dear lassy. 

An' swore that I was his dear lassy, 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthie and sweet. 

Gin she had recoverki her hearin', 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl'd feet. 

But, Lord ! how he fell a swearin', a swearin'^ 

But, Lord ! how he fell a swearin'. 

He begged for guidsake I v/ad be his wife. 
Or else I wouM kill him wi' sorrow ; 

So just to preserve the poor body in life, 

I believe I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow>. 
I believe I maun wed him to-morrow. 



S9f 

SONG. 

ANNA. 
Tune, — Banks of BoMnoi 

YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine, 
A place where body saw na \ 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
The raven locks of Anna. 

The hungry Jew, in wilderness, 

Rejoicing o'er his Manna, 
Was naething to my honey bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Te Monarchs take the East and West, 

Frae Indus to Savannah, 
Gie me within my straining gi'asp. 

The melting form of Anna. 

Then FU despise imperial charms. 

An Empress or Sultana ; 
While dying raptures, in her arms^ 

I give and take with Anna. 

Awa, thou flaunting god of day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray. 

When Fm to meet my Anna. 

Come in thy raven-plumage, Night ! 

Sun, moon, and stars, withdraw a' i 
And bring an angel-pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna I 



392 

SONG. 

The Five Carlins. 

AN ELECTION BALLAU. 

Tune, — Chevy Chase. 

THERE were five Carlins in the south, 
They fell upon a scheme, 
To send a lad to London town 
To bring us tidings hame.. 

Not only bring us tidings hame, 

But do our errands there. 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggie by the banks o' the Nith% 

A dame wi' pride enough; 
And Marjorie o' the money Lochf, 

A Carling auld and teugh. 

And blinkin' Bess o' Annandalef 

That dwells near Solway side. 
And Whisky Jean that took her gillf, 

In Galloway so wide. 

And auld black Joan frae Creighton peeljl, 

O' gipsy kith and ken. 
Five wightier Carlins were na. found 

The South kintra within. 

♦ Dumfries, f Lochmabin. \ Annan. § Kirkcudbrlghti 
[| Sanquhar. 



393^ 

To send a lad to Lon'on town, 

They met upon a day, 
And monie a Knight and monie a Laird 

That errand fain wad gae. 

O monie a Knight and monie a Laird, 

This errand fain wad gae. 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

O ne'er a ane but twae. 

The first ane was a belted Knight, 

Bred o' a border band. 
An* he wad gae to Lon'on town. 

Might nae man him withstand. 

And he wad do their errands weel, 

And meikle he wad say, 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 

Then niest cam in a So'dger youth, 

And spak wi' modest grace, 
And he wad gae to Lon'on town^ 

If sae their pleasure was. 

He wad na hecht them courtly gift. 
Nor meikle speech pretend ; 

But he wad hecht an honest heart. 
Wad ne'er desert his friend. 

Now whom to choose and whom refuse j 

To strife thae Carlins fell ; 
For some had gentle folk to please. 

And soine wad please themseL, 



S94 

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, 

An' she spak out wi' pride, 
An' she wad send the Sodger youth 

Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guidman o' Lon'on court 

She did not care a pin, 
But she wad send the Sodger youth 

To greet his eldest Son. 

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale : 

A deadly aith she's ta'en, 
That she wad vote the border Knight, 

Tho' she should vote her lane. 

For far off fowls hae feathers fair, 

An' fools o' change are fain ^ 
But I hae tried the border Knight, 

I'll try him yet again. 

Says auld black loan frae Creighton peel f 

A Carlin stout and grim, 
The auld guidman or young guidman, 

For me may sink or swim. 

For fools may prate o' right and wrang. 
While knaves laugh them to scorn ; 

But the Sodger's friends hae blawn the best,. 
Sae be shall bear the horn. 

Then whisky Jean spak o'er her drink, 

Ye weel ken kimmers a'. 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 

His back's been at the wa'* 



S9i 



And monie a friend that kiss'd his caup. 

Is now a frammit wight ; 
But it's ne'er sae wi' whisky Jean, 

We'll send the border Knight, 

Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs, 
And wrinkled was her brow : 

Her ancient weed was russet gray, 
Her auld Scot's heart was true. 

There's some great folks set Hght by me, 

I set as light by them ; 
But I will send to Lon'on town 

Wha I lo'e best at hame. 

So how this weighty plea will end, 

Nae mortal wight can tell -, 
G-d grant the King and ilka man 

May look weel to himseL 



SONG. 
TAM GLEN. 



MY heart is a-breaking, dear tittie ; 
Some counsel unto me come len' ; 
To anger them a' is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? 

To anger them, &c. 



395 

Fm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow. 
In poortith I might mak a fen' ; 

What care I in riches to wallow, 
If I mauna marry Tarn Glen. 

What care I, &c. 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Drnmeller, 
Guid day to you brute, he comes ben. 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller, 

But whan will he dance like Tarn Glen ? 
He brags, &c. 

My minnie does constantly deave me. 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

TJiey flatter, she says, to deceive me. 
But wha can think sae o' Tarn Glen ? 

They flatter, &c. 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
He'll gie m.e guid hunder marks ten : 

But if it's ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O wha will I get but Tarn Glen ? 

But if it's, &c. 

Yestreen at the valentines dealinp-. 
My heart to my mou' gied a sten' ; 

For thrice I drew ane without failing. 
And thrice it was written Tam Glen. 

For thrice I, &c. 

The last Hallowe'en I was waukin. 
My droukit sark sleeve, as ye ken. 

His likeness cam up the house stauking. 
And the vera grey breeks o' Tam Glen. 
His likeness, &c. 



S97 

Come counsel, dear tittle, don't tarry ; 

Fll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gin ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly. Tarn Glen. 

Gin ye will^ &c» 



SONG. 

The Soldier's Return. 

WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 
And gentle peace returning, 
And eyes again with pleasure beam'd, 

That had been blear'd with mourning ; 
I left the lines, and tented field. 
Where lang Fd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
A poor but honest Soldier. 

A leal light heart beat in my breast, 

My hand unstained wi' plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon her witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd tiie bonny glen, 

Where early life 1 sported, 
I past the mill, and trysting thorn, "^ 

Where Nancy aft I courted, 
LI 



398 

Wha spied I but mine ain dear maid 
Down by her mother's dwelling ! 

And turn'd me round to hide the flood 
That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quo^ I, sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom, 
O ! happy, happy may he be. 

That's dearest to thy bosom. 
My purse is light, Fve far to gang, 

Fain wad I be thy lodger ; 
Fve serv'd my King and country lang, 

Take pity on a Soldier, 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me. 

And lovelier grew than ever ; 
Quo' she, a Soldier ance I lo'ed. 

Forget him I shall never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade. 

You're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose — 

Syne pale like ony lily. 
She sank within mine arms, and cried. 

Art thou mine ain dear Willie ? 
By him who made yon sun and sky. 

By whom true love's regarded, 
I am the man ! — and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame. 
And find thee still true-hearted ; 

Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love. 
And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 



S9d 

Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailin plenish'd fairly : 
Come then, my faithful Soldier lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly. 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor j 
But glory is the Soldier's prize, 

The Soldier's wealth is honour : 
The brave poor Soldier ne'er- despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger ; 
Remember, he's his country's stay. 

In day and hour of danger. 



SONG. 



O wat ye whas in yon Town. 

OWAT ye wha's In yon town. 
Ye see the e'ening sun upon ? 
The dearest maid's in yon town. 
That e'ening sun is shining on. 

Now, haply, down yon gay green shaw, 
She wanders by yon spreading tree, 

How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw ! 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. 

How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
And wanton in the blooming year ; 

But doubly welcome be the springs 
The season to my Jeanie dear* 
LI2 



400 

The sun blinks blythe on yon town, 
Amang the broomy braes sae green, 

But my deHght in yon town, 

And dearest pleasure, is my Jean.- 

Without my fair, not a*^ the charms 
O' paradise could yield me joy j 

But gie me Jeanie in my arms. 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave would be a lover^s bower, 
Though raging winter rent the air,^ 

And she a lovely little flower, 
That I would tent and shelter there. 

O sweet is she in yon town. 

The sinking sun's gaun down upon i 

The dearest maid's in yon town 
His setting beam e'er shone upon. 

If angry fate be sworn my foe. 

And suff 'ring I am doom'd to bear, 

I'd careless quit ought else below ; 
But spare, oh ! spare my Jeanie dear.. 

Tor while life's dearest blood runs warm. 
My thoughts frae her shall ne'er depart y 

For as most lovely is her form. 
She has the truest, kindest heart 



401 

SONG. 
CALEDONIA. 

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign lands^ 
reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the per- 
fume; 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
With the burn stealing under the lang yellow 
broom. 

Far dearer to me yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; 

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,, 
A list'ning the linnet^ aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze, in their gay sunny vallies. 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace, 
What are they ? — the haunt o' the tyrant and 
slave. 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold bubbling foun- 
tain% 
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the wind on his naountains, 
Save love's willing fetters — tlie chains of his> 
Jean. 

LIS 



402: 

SONG. 

POLLY STEWART. 

O lovely Polly Stewart y 
O cJiarming Polly Stewart : 
There's ne'er afiower that blooms in May^ 
Thafs half sae fair as thou art. 

THE rose it blaws, it fades^ it fa's, 
An' art can ne'er renew it. 
But worth an' truth, a lasting youth, 
Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

O lovely Polly Stewart^ S^-c- 

Thy looks express a sweet excess. 

An' I wi' pleasure view it, 
Wi' shape sae fine, O were it mine. 

My charming Polly Stewart. 

O lovely Polly Stewart^ S^c. 

In azure skies, I see thine eyes, 

An' crystal streams avow it. 
Thy dimpl'd cheek, nae youth can meet. 

An' no love Polly Stewart. 

O lovely Polly Stewart ^ S^d 

What man could guess a country lass 

Wad be sae fine as thou art ; 
Nae city belle, can thee excel. 

My pretty Polly Stewart. 

O lovely Polly Stewarty 4^c. 

Twin'd in my arms wi' a' thy charms. 

Possessing sic a true heart. 
Thro' life I'll prove, how dear I love. 

My pretty Polly Stewart. 

' ' O lovely Polly Stewart, S^c. 



SONG. 

JFillie Brcw'd a Peek o' Maut. 

O WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut. 
An' Rob an' Allan cam to see 5 
Three blyther h^earts, that lee-Iang night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

"We are na fou, weVe nae that fou, 
But just a drappie in our e'e 5 

The cock may craw, the day may daWj^ 
An' ay we'll taste the barley brie. 

Here are we met, three merry boys> 
Three merry boys I trow are we ; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
An' mony mae we hope to be ! 

We are na fou, &c.. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn. 
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie \ 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame^ 
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee ! 

We are na fou, &c* 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 

A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 

He is the king amang us three ! 

We are na fou, &c.. 



404 

SONG. 

My Mary^ dear departed Shaile. 

THOU ling'ring star, with lessening ray, 
That lov'st to greet the early mom. 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn.. 
O Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear^st thou the groans that rend his breast I 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the halloAv'd grove ? 
Where, by the. winding Ayr, we met 

To live one day of parting love. 
Eternity cannot efface 

Those records dear of transports past : 
Thy image at our last embrace, 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last. 

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd its pebbled shore. 

Overhung with wild-woods thick'ning greeti, 
The fragrant birch an' hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene : 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 

The birds sang love an every spray, 
Till too, too soon the glowing west. 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wabes, 
And fondly broods with miser care; 

Time but the impression stronger makes. 
As streaflas their channels deeper wear : 



405 



My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?. 



SONG, 

Sic a Wife as Willie Md. 

WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie> 
Willie was a wabster guid, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi* ony boddie \ 
He had a wife was dour and din, 
O Tinkler Madgie was her mither : 
Sic a Wife as JVillie had. 
I wad na gie a button for hei\ 

She has an e'e, she has but ane, 
The cat has twa the vera colour ; 

Five rustie teeth forby a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller 5, 

A whiskin beard about her mou. 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither i 
Sic a Wfc, %c. 

She's bow-houghM, she's hein shinn'd, 
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter \ 

She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fair in ilka quarter \ 

She has a hump upon her breast. 

The twin o' that upon her shouther : 
Sic a JVifcj ^c. 



406 

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, 

An' wi' her loof her face a washin' : 
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion j 
Her wailie nieves like midden-creels. 
Her face wad fyle the Logan-water : 
Sic a Wife as Willie hady 
I "wad na gie a button for her. 

SONG. 



The Braes 6" Ballochmyle. 

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen. 
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee j, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,. 

But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whiley 
An' ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 
Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wint'ry beds, ye flowers. 
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; 

Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers^ 
Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 

Nae joys, alas ! for me are here, 
Nae pleasure find I in this soil, 

Until Maria 'gain appear, 
' Fareweel the ^raes o' Ballochmyle. 



467 
SONG. 

The Banks o' Doon* 

YE banks an' braes o' bonny Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh an' fair ; 
How can you chant, ye little birds. 

An' I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 
Thou'U break my heart thou warbling bird. 
That wantons thro' the flow'ring thorn : 
Thou minds me o' departed joys. 
Departed, never to return. 

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine j 
An' ilka bird sang o' its love. 

An' fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
An' my fause lover stole my rose, 

But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



SONG. 
The Gallant tVeamr. 

WHERE Cart rins rowin' to the sea, 
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
He is a gallant weaver. 



408 

Oh, I had wooers aught or nine, 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine j 
An' I was fear'd my heart would tine, 
An' I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band 
To gie the lad that has the land. 
But to my heart FU add my hand. 
An' give it to the weaver. 

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; 
While bees delight in opening flowers ; 
While corn grows green in simmer showers, 
I'll love my gallant weaver.^ 



SONG. 

O FOR ANE AN^ TWENTY TAM. 

An^ O, for am arU twenty^ Tarn ! 

A?i^ ke7/y sxsceet ane an' txventy^ Tarn i 
Til lear7i my kin a ratilbH sang^ 

An^ I saw ane an' twenty^ Tarn ! 

THEY snool me sair, and haud me down, 
An' gar me look like bluntie, Tam ! 
But three short years will soon wheel roun'. 
An' then comes ane an' twenty, Tam. 

An' O, for ane^ Sfc, 

* In some Editions saiior is substituted for iveaver. 



409 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 
Was left me by my auntie, Tarn j 

At kith or kin I need na spier. 
An' I saw ane an' twenty, Tam. 

An^ O, fo7' ane^ S^c, 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam \ 

But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof, 
I'm thine at ane an' twenty, Tam ! 

ArC O, for ancy 8^x. 



SONG. 

Country Lassie. 

IN simmer when the hay was mawn, 
An' corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While clover blooms white o'er the lea, 

An' roses biaw in ilka bield ; 
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel. 

Says ril be wed come o't what will ; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, 
O' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

It's ye hae wooers mony ane. 

An' lassie ye're but young ye ken \ 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale 

' A routhie butt, a routhie ben : 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. 
It's plenty beets the lover's fire. 
Mm 



410 

For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flee ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye. 

He has nae love to spare for me : 
But blythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

An' weel a wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 

For Buskie-glen an' a' his gear. 

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ; 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 

A hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will sparci 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will j 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. 

O gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

An' gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome love, 

The gowd an' siller canna buy : 
We may be poor — Robie an' I, 

Light is the burden love lays on ; 
Content and love brings peace and joy. 

What mair hae queens upon a throne ? 



SONG. 

ANNA. 



ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, 
An' waste my soul with care 5 
But ah ! how bootless to admire, 
When fated to despair ! 



411 



Yet In thy presence, lovely Fair ! 

To hope may be forgiv'n 5 
For sure 'twere impious to despair. 

So much in sight of Heav'iK 



SONG. 

For the Sake 0' Somebody. 

MY heart is sair I dare na tell, 
My heart is sair for somebody \ 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake of somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody I 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around. 
For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 

O, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Fra ilka danger keep him free. 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody \ 
Mm2 



412 

SONG. 
Bess and her Spinning Wheel. 

OLEEZE me on my spinning wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh descends the sinmier sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinning wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot. 

And meet below my theekit cot ; 

The scented birk and hawthorn white 

Across the pool their arms unite. 

Alike to screen the birdie's nest : 

And little fishes caller rest : 

The sun blinks kindly in the bieF, 

Where, blythe I turn my spinning wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail. 
And echo cons the doolfu' t^€\ 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delightedj rival ither's lays : 
The craik amang the claver hay. 
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinning wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, andiess to buy, 
Aboon distress, bellow envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state. 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 



413 



Amid their flairing, idle toys. 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel. 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel. 

SONG. 

JVhat can a young Lassie do wi an auld 
Man. 

WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young 
lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 

Bad luck on the pennie^ SfC. 

He's always compleenin' frae momin' to e'enin*. 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; 

He's doyl't and he's dozin, his blude it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows, 
O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
Fil do my endeavour to follow her plan \ 

I'll cross him, and wrack him until I heart-break him. 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 

Mm 3 



414 

SONG. 

Then Gnlclwife count the Laxvin. 

GANE is the day and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faut o' light, 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon. 
And blude red wine's the risin' sun. 

Then guidwife count the lamn^ the lawiiiy the la'winy 
Then guidivife count the lawiny and bring a coggie 
mair. 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen^ 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen j 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 

Then guidwife county 8^, 

My coggie is a haly pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 

And pleasure is a wanton trout, 

An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. 

Then g^iidtsoife county S^. 

SONG. 

My Tocher s the Jewel. 

MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty. 
And melkle thinks my luve o' my kin \ 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie. 
My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 



415 

It^s a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee : 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve vyi' the siller. 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve's an airle-penny. 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnin', 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
You're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye'll slip fra me like a knotless thread. 

And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 



SONG. 

John Anderson^ '^^y jo. 

IMPROVED BY ROBERT BURNS. 

JOHN Anderson, my jo, John, I wonder what 
you mean. 
To rise so soon in the morning, and sit up so late at 

e'en; 
Ye'll blear out a' your e'en, John, and why should 

you do so, 
Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson, 
my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, whan nature first began 
To try her canny hand, John, her master-work was 

man; 
And you amang them a' John, sae trig frae top to toe. 
She prov'd to be nae journey-work, John Anderson, 

my jo. 



416 



John Anderson, my jo, John, ye were my first con- 
ceit, 

And ye need na think it strange, John, tho' I ca' ye 
trim and neat ; 

Tho' some folk say yeVe auld, John, I never think 
ye so, 

But I think ye're ay the same to me, John Anderson, 
my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, we've seen our bairns* 

bairns, 
And yet, my dear John Anderson, I'm happy in your 

arms. 
And sae are ye in mine, John — I'm sure ye'll ne'er 

say no, 
Tho' the days are gane that we have seen, John 

Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, what pleasure does it 

To see sae many sprouts, John, spring up 'tween you 

and me. 
And ilka lad and lass, John, in our footsteps to go. 
Makes perfect heaven here on earth, John Anderson, 

my jo* 

«* John Anderson, my jo, John, when we were first 

acquaint, 
*< Your locks were like the raven, your bonnie brow 

was brent, 
" But now your head^s turned bald^ John, your locks 

are like the snow, 
** Yet blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, 

my jo.'^ 



417 

John Anderson, my jo, John, frae year to year we've 

past, 
And soon that year maun come, John, will bring us 

to our last : 
But let na' that affright us, John, our hearts were 

ne'er our foe, 
While in innocent delight we lived, John Anderson, 

my jo. 

" John Anderson, my jo, John, we clamb the hill 
thegither, 

« And mony a canty day, John, we've had wi' ane 
anither 5 

« Now we maun totter down, John, bid hand in hand 
we'll go, 

«^ And "we'll sleep thegither at the foot, John Ander- 
son, my jo." 

SONG. 

O, were 1 07i Parnassus Hill. 
Tune, — «< My Love is lost to me" 

OWERE I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill •, 
That I might catch poetic skill. 
To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my muse's well. 
My muse maun be thy bonnie sell ; 
On Corsincon Til glowr and spell. 
And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay ! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I coudna sing, I coudna say, 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 



418 

I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — 
By heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
And ay I muse and sing thy name, 

I only live to love thee. 
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on^ 
!Beyond the sea, beyc«id the sun, 
'Till my last, weary sand was run ; 

'Till then— and then I love thee. 



SONG. 

Tibbie.^ I hae seen the Daijf. 
Tune, — <^ Invercald's Beel."^ 

O Tibhiey I hae seen the day^ 
Ye would nae been sae shy; 

For laiJc d' gear ye lightly me^ 
But trowthi I care nae by. 

YESTREEN I met you on the moor. 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ; 
Ye geek at me because Fm poor. 
But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie i Ihacy ^c. 



419 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

O Tibbie y I hae^ S^c. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy queen 
That looks sae proud and high. 

O Tibbie, I hae, ^c. 

Altho* a lad were e'er sae smart. 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'li cast your head anither airt. 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, I hae, SfC. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear. 
Be better than the kye. 

O Tibbie, I hae, S^c. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice. 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price. 
Were ye as poor as I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, SiX. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na gie her under sark, 
For thee wi' a' thy thousan' mark ; 
Ye need na look sae high. 

O Tibbie, I hae, ^x. 



420 

SONG. 

A Ttose-Bud by my early Walk. 

AROSE-bud by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-inclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a' its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood. 
The pride^ the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair. 
On trembling string or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, yomig and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's ev'ning ray 
That watch'd thy early morning.* 

* This song was written during the winter of 1787, Miss J. 
C. daughter of a friend of the Bard, is the heroine. 



421 
SONG. 

The Birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonny lassie y mil ye gOy "will ye go^ "will ye go, 
Bonny lassie, will ye go to the Birks of Aherfeldy? 

NOW simmer blinks on flow'ry braes, 
And o'er the chrystal streamlets plays. 
Come let us spend the lightsome days 
. In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonny lassie, Sfc. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blythely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bo7iny lassie, Sfc. 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's. 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws. 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonny lassie, Sfc, 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bo7iny lassie, 4'C> 

Let fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonny lassie, Sfc. 
Nn 



422 

SONG. 

Hey for a Lass wi a Tocher. 
Tune, — " Balinamona and oraP 

AWA wr your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms : 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' ^he weel-stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey ^ for a lass wr a tocher; then hey ^ for a lass 

wf a tocher^ 
Then hey ^ for a lass *wi^ a tocher; the nice yellow 

guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows. 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes. 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes. 

Then hey^ Sec. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest j 
But the sweet, yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye hae them — the mair they're carest. 

Then hey, S^c. 



425 

SONG. 

Tune, — " Let me in this ae Nights 

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet, 
Or art thou wakin', I would wit. 
For love has bound me, hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHOEUS. 

ht me in this ae night. 

This ae, ae, ae flight; 
For pity's sake this ae nighty 

rise and let me in, Jo. 



Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet •, 
Tak pity on my weary feet. 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 

let me in^ SfC. 



The bitter blast that round me blaws 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
The cauldness o* thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 

let me in^ 8^x. 
Nn2 



424 



HER ANSWER. 



O tell na me o' wind and rain. 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain, 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 



CHORUS. 



I tell you now this ae nighty 
This ae^ ae^ ae night; 

And ancefor cH this ae nighty 
I winna let you in^ jo* 



The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wandVer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures^ 
That's trusted faithless man, jo* 

I tell you now^ S^c. 

The sweetest flow'r that deck'd the mead. 
Now trodden like the vilest weed : 
Let simple maid the lesson read. 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 

I tell you noWy SfC. 

The bird that charmM his summer-day, 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey \ 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 

I tell you noWy Sfc. 



425 

SONG. 
CONTENTED WT LITTLE. 

Tune — Lumps d PuddiJigs. 

CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin' alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought j 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught. 
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare 
touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship southers it a' : 
When at the blythe end of our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : 
Come ease> or come travail •, come pleasure or pain ; 
My warst word is " Welcome, and welcome again." 



SONG. 
AULD LANG SYNE. 

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And days o' lang syne ? 

For aidd lang syne^ my dear^ 

For auld lang sipie^ 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yety 
For auld lang syne. 
Nn3 



i26 

We twae hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auldy Sfc. 

We twae hae paidlet i' the burn, 

Frae morning sun till dine ; 
.But seas between us braid hae roar'd 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For aiddy Sfc. 

And here^s a hand my trusty fiere. 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught^ 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld^ SfC. 

And surely ye'll be your pint stoup, 

And surely Fil be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne^ 
* Far auldy ^c. 



SONG, 
MEG O' THE MILL. 

Tune — O honny lass mil you lie m a barrack? 

KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten 



o 



She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller. 



b 



And broken the heart o' the barley miller. 



427 

The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy ; 
A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl : 
She's left the guid fellow, and ta'en the churl. 

The miller he hecht her, a heart leal and loving : 
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving^ 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonny side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing •, 
And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailin ! 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle. 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! 



SONG. 
THE POSIE. 



OLOVE will venture in, where it daur na weel 
be seen, 
O love will venture in, where wisdom ance has beenj. 
But I will down yon river rove amang the wood sae 
green. 
And a' to pu* a posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the yedr. 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o* my dear. 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms with- 
out a peer ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May, 



428 



ni pu' the budding rose when Phcebus peeps in view. 
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonny mou ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy wi* its unchanging blue. 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air. 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day. 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak 
away •, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near. 
And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her een sae 

clear; 
The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear. 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 



I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' love, 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear, by a' 

above. 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er 

remove. 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 



i26 

SONG. ^^ 
SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A' 

Tune — OnagKs Lock. 

SAE flaxen were her ringlets, 
Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing e'en o' bonny blue, 
Her smiling, sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe \ 
What pleasure, what treasure. 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
Such was my Chloris' bonny face, 

AVhcii first her bonn"*^ f;icc I saw ^ 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a*. 



Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky, 
Sae warming, sae charming. 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld Nature 

Declar'd that she could do nae mair : 
Her's are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign law j 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says sh-e lo'es me best of a'. 



430 

Let others love tl!i||||;ity, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon y 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair-beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling. 

The amorous thrush concludes her sang : 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o* truth and love, 

And say thou lo'es me best of a' ? 

SONG. 
JESSIE. 

Tune — Bonny Dundee. 

TRUE-HEARTED was he, the sad swain o' the 
Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 

Are lovers as faithfu' and maidens as fair. 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain -, 
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

O fresh is the rose in the gay dewy morning. 
And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 

But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,. 
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose* 



431 



Love sits in her smile, a wizarc^ ensnaring; 

Enthroned in her een he delivers his law : 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger ! 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'. 

SONG. 
JDOJf'N THE BURN DAVIE. 

(as altered by r. burns.) 

WHEN trees did bud, and fields were green, 
And broom bloom'd fair to see ; 
When Mary was complete fifteen, 

And love laugh'd in her e'e : 
Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move, 

To speak her mind thus free, 
Gang down the burn, my Davie, love, 
And I shall follow thee. 

Now Davie did each lad surpass. 

That dwelt on yon burn side, 
And Mary was the bonniest lass. 

Just meet to be a bride ; 
Her cheeks were rosy, red and white. 

Her een were bonny blue ; 
Her locks were like Aurora bright. 

Her lips like dropping dew. 

As down the burn they took their way, 

And thro' the flow'ry dale ; 
His cheeks to hers he aft did lay, 

And love was ay the tale. 



432 

With " Mary, when shall we return, 

^« Sic pleasure to renew ?'' 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn, 

«^ And ay shall follow you." 



song: 

AULD ROB MORRIS. 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen. 
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale o' auld 
men ; 
He has gowd in his coiFers, he has owsen and kine. 
And ae bonny lassie, his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay •, 
As blythe and as artless as lambs on a lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

But oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird. 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; 
A wooer like me mauna hope t6 come speed, 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight it brings nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gaiie : 
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it vr^d burst in my breast. 

O, had she but been of a lower degree, 
I then might ha'e hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! 
O, how past describing had then been my bliss, • 
As now my distraction no words can express. 



43S 

SONG. 

GALA WATER. 

BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
Ye wander through the blooming heather ^ 
But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws. 
Can match the lads o' Gala water. 

But there Is ane, a secret ane, 

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 
And FU be his, and he'll be mine, 

The bonny lad o' Gala water. 

Although his daddie was nae laird. 
And though I hae nae meikle tocher. 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love. 

We'll tent our flocks by Gala water. 

It ne*er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth 
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



SONG. 
THE ROSY BRIER. 

Tune — / wish my love were in a mire. 

O BONNIE was yon rosy brier. 
That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man •, 
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 
It shaded frae the e'ening sun. 
Oo 



434 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 
How pure amang the leaves sae green ; 

But purer was the lover's vow, 

They witnessed in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair ! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



SONG. 
ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. 

Tune — Locherrock Side. 

OSTAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray \ 
A hapless lover courts thy lay. 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part. 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha' kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, 
Sic notes o* woe could waukin. 



435 



Thou tells o* never-ending care •, 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 



SONG. 
CANST THOU LEAVE ME, 4'c. 
_ Tune — Ro2/'s Wife. 

Canst tliQU leave me thusy my KatyP 
Canst thou leave me thusy my Katy? 
Well thou kno^difst my aching hearty 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity? 

IS this thy plighted fond regard. 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching broken heart, my Katy ! 
Canst thoiiy S^c. 



Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 

That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 
Thou may'st find those will love thee dear— 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thouy 8$c. 

Oo2 



48© 

SONG. 
SHE'S FAIR AND PAUSE. 

SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart, 
I lo'ed her meikle and lang \ 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart. 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear, 
And I hae tint my dearest dear. 
But woman is but warld's gear, 
Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O woman, lovely, woman fair. 
An angel form's faun to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair, 

I mean an angel mind. 



SONG. 
THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

Tune — Aha ! Johnie lad. 

BONNIE wee thing, cannie wee thing. 
Lovely wee thing wert thou mine 5 
I wad wear thee in my bosom. 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wishfully I look and languish 

In that bonnie face of thine ; 
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish. 

Lest my wee thing be na piine. 



437 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie 'wee things Sfc. 

SONG. 
GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! 
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting, thou mak^st me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painfu' pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour j 
But the dire feeling, O fareojcll for evei^ I 
Is anguish unmingled and agony pure. 

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest. 

Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom. 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone 5 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou mak'st me remember^ 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
OoS 



498 

SONG. 
LORD GREGORY. 

OMIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, 
And loud the tempests roar, 
A waefu* wandVer seeks thy tower. 
Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha*, 

And a' for loving thee, 
At least some pity on me shaw. 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove. 

By bonny Irwine-side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin love, 

I lang, lang had denied. 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow. 

Thou wadst for ay be mine ; 
And my fond heart, itsel sae true. 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven, that flashes by, 

O wilt thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above. 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon, my fause love. 

His wrangs to heav'n and me ! 



439 

LOGAN BRAES. 

Tune — Logan nsoater. 

O LOGAN, sweetly didst thou glide. 
That day I was my Willie's bride j 
And years sinsyne has o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie water dark and drear. 
While my dear lad maun face his faes. 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May, 

Has made our hills and vallies gay j 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flowers : 

Blythe morning lifts her rosy eye, 

And evening's tears are tears of joy : 

My soul, delightless, a' surveys. 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil. 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer. 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days. 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

O wae upon you men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn^ 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 



440 

How can your flinty hearts enjoy, 
I'he widow's tears, the orphan's cry r 
But soon may peace bring happy days, 
And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 

SONG. 

HAD I A CAVE. 

Tune — 'Robin Adair. 

HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore, 
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing 
roar : 
There would I weep my woes. 
There seek my lost repose, 
Till grief my eyes should close. 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of woman kind, canst thou declare. 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air I 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
Then in thy bosom try. 
What peace is there I 



SONG. 
HIGHLAND MARY. 

Tune — Katharine Ogie. 

YE banks, and braes, and streams around 
The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers^ 
Your waters never drumlie ! 



441 



There simmer first unfaulds her robes. 
And there they langest tarry ; 

For there I took my last fareweel 
O* my sweet Highland Mary. 



How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ; 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life. 

Was my sweet Higliland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender j 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore ourselves asunder ; ^ 
But, oh ! fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary. 



O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance. 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust. 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



442 

SONG. 
WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? 

Tune— 2%^ Sutot^s Dochter. 

WILT thou be my dearie ? 
When sorrow wrings thy g'entle heart, 
Wilt thou let me cheer thee I 
By the treasure of my soul. 
That's the love I bear thee ! 
I swear and vow that only thou 
Shalt ever be my dearie : 
Only thou, I swear and vow, 
Shalt ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
Or if thou vdlt na be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me : 
If it winna, canna be. 
Thou for thine may choose me, 
Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
Lassie let me quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



SONG. 

HOW LANG AND DBEARYy Sfc. 
Tune — Cauld kail z7i Aberdeen* 

HOW lang and dreary is the night. 
When I am frae my dearie ! 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn. 
Though I were ne'er sae weary. 



44S 

Tor ohy her lanely nights are langy 
And oily her dreams are eerie; 

And ohy her mdaio^d heart is sair, 
Tkafs absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 
I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 

And now what seas between us roar. 
How can I be but eerie ? 
For ohy Sfc. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day how dreary : 
It was nae sae, ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For ohy S^r. 



SONG. 

COME LET ME TAKEy S^c. 

Tune — Cauld kaily S^c. 

COME let me take thee to my breast, 
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur : 
And do I hear my Jeanie own, 

That equal transports move her ? 
I ask for dearest life alone 
That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure ; 

ril seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 
Than sic a moment's pleasure : 



44i 

And by thy een, sae bonny blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever ! 

And on thy lips I seal my vow. 
And break it shall I never. 



MY CHLORIS, S^c. 

MY Chloris, mark how green the groves, 
The primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers. 
And wave the flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween. 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blythe, in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo : 
The courtier tells a finer tale. 

But is his heart as true ? 

These wild wood-flowers I've pu'd, to deck 

That spotless breast o' thine. 
The courtier's gems may witness love— 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



445 
SONG. 

THE DA Y RETURNS. 

Tune — Seventh of November. 

THE day returns, my bosom burns. 
The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd. 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes. 
Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight. 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ! 
While joys above my mind can move. 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



SONG. 

RAVING WINDS. 

Tune — McGregor ofRerds lament. 

AVING winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella strayed deploring. 



R 



44^6 

" Farewell, hours that late did measure 
«^ Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
^^ Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
^^ Cheerless night that knows no morrow. 

<^ O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
<^ On the hopeless future pondering j 
^^ Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
«« Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
<^ Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
«^ Load to misery most distressing, 
<^ O how gladly Fd resign thee, 
<^ And to dark oblivion join thee !'* 



SONG. 
AFTON WATER. 

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green 
braes. 
Flow gently, FU sing ihee a song In thy praise j 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream. 
Flow glently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds, in yon thorny den. 

Thou green crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

}* 

How lofty, sweet iVfton, thy neighbouring hills. 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills ! 
There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 



447 

How pleasant thy banks and green valHes below. 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ! 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. 
As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear 
wave ! 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream. 
Flow gemly, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

SONG. 
BOXXY BELL. 

THE smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 
And surly winter grimly flies ; 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 
And bonny blue are the sunny skies j 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning. 

The evening gilds the ocean's swell ; 
AH creatures joy in the sun's returning, 
And I rejoice in my bonny Bell. 

The flowery spring leads sunny summer, 

And yellow autumn presses near. 
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter, 

Till smiling spring again appear. 
P p 2 



448 



Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 
Old time and nature their changes tell, 

But never ranging, still unchanging, 
I adore my bonny Bell. 



SONG. 
FAIR JENNY. 

Tune — Saw ye my Father ? 

WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning, 
That danc'd to the lark's early song ? 
Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 
At evening the wild-woods among ? 

No more a-winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flowerets so fair : 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad-sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsaken our vallles, 

And grim, surly winter is near ? 
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide, what I fear to discover. 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom. 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal. 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguishj> 

Enjoyment Fll seek in my woe. 



449 

SONG. 
BLYTHE WAS SHE. 

BY Oughtertyre grows the aik. 
On Yarrow banks the birken flaw ; 
But Phemie was a bonier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 

Blythe^ hlytlie and merry "dcas sJiey 
Blythe x.i)as she but and ben; 

Blythe by the banks of Brn^ 
And blythe in Glenturit glen. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blythe^ S^x. 

Her bonny face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lee *, 
The ev'ning sun was ne'er sae sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blythe^ Sfc, 

The Highland hills Fve wander'd wide. 

And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ^ 
But Phemie was the blythest lass 
That ever trode the dewy green. 
Blythe, Sfc. 

Pp3 



450 
SONG. 

CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOTVES. 

CcH the yawes to the knoxves, 
Cd them where the heather growsy 
CcC them where the burnie r^oives^ 
My bonnie dearie. 

"ARK, the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang ; 
Then a-faulding let us gang, 
My bonny dearie. 
Cd they 8^x. 

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Cd they Sfc. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
Where at moonshine midnight hours^ 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, ~ 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' they S^c. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love an Heav'n sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonny dearie. 
Cd they S^c. 

Fair and lovely as thou art. 
Thou hast stown my very heart j 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonny dearie. 
Ca' they ^c. 



451 

SONG. ^ 
ADOWN TVINDING NITH. 

Tune — The mucking d Geo7'die*s Byre. 

ADOWN winding Nith I did wander. 
To mark the sweet flow'rs as they spring ; 
Adown winding Nith I did wander. 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

Awa xm'^ yoxir belles and your beauties^ 
They never wi' her can compare : 

Whoever has met wf my Phillis, 
Has met m' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 

So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 

For she is simplicity's child. 
Away SfC. 

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 

How fair and how pure is the lily ! 
But fairer and purer her breast. 
Awa^ SfC.^ 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour. 

They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, 

Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
Awa, Sfc. 



452 

Her voice is the song of the morning 

That wakes thro' the green spreading grove. 

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 

Away Sfc. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting. 
The bloom o£ a fine summer's day ! 

While worth In the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decav. 
Awa^ Sfc. 



SONG. 
CRAJGIE'BUEN WOOD. 

SWEET fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
And blythe awakes the morrow, 
But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow, 

I see the flowers and spreading trees,. 

I hear the wild birds singing, 
But what a weary wight can please. 

And care his bosom wringing ? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 

Yet dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart. 

If I conceal it langer. 

If you refuse to pity me, 

If thou sbalt love ankher. 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tr€€, 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



453 

SONG. 
THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 

Tune — This is no my ain house. 

this is no my ain lassie^ 
Fair though the lassie be ; 

O weel ken I my ain lassie^ 
Kind love is in her e'e. 

I SEE a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is ?iOy Sfc. 

She's bonny, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall 5 
And ay it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is 710) Syc. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een. 
When kind love is in the e'e. 
O this is nOy &yc. 

It may escape the courtly sparks. 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e, 
O this is noy 8yc. 



454? 

SONG. 

FAREWELLy THOU STREAM, Sfc. 

Tune — Nancy* s to the Greenwood gane. 

FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 

memVy ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling ; 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in evVy vein, 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair. 

Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me ; 
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, 
For pity's sake forgive me ! 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd. 

Till fears no more had sav'd me. 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



455 

SONG. 

BONNY LESLEY. 

Tune — Collier^s honny Dochter. 

OSAW ye bonny Lesley 
As she gaed o'er the border ? 
She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farthei*. 

To see her Is to love her, 

And love but her for ever ; 
For Nature made her what she is, 

And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Thou art a queen, fiiir Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee : 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he could na scaith thee. 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He'd look into thy bonny face, 
And say, ^' I canna wrang thee." 

The Powers aboon will tent thee \ 
Misfortune sha'na steer thee : 

Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonny. 



456 

SONG. 

POORTITH CAULD. 

Tune — I had a horse. 

O POORTITH cauld, and restless love> 
Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortith a' I could forgive> 
An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
O why should Fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 
Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth, when I think on 

Its pride, and a' the lave o't ; 
Fie, fie on silly coward man. 

That he should be the slave o't. 
O ic^/, ^r. 

Her een sae bonny blue betrays 

How she repays my passion : 
But prudence is her o'erword ay, 

She talks of rank and fashion. 
O U'/^^/, 8^c. 

O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him } 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? 



457 

How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 

He wooes his simple dearie ; 
The silly bogles, wealth and state. 

Can never make them eerie. 
O why should Fate sic pleasure have. 

Life's dearer bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

SONG. 
OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! 

^^ /^^H, open the door, some pity to show, 
V^^ Oh, open the door to me, Oh, 

Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 
Oh, open the door to me. Oh. 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But ciiulder thy love for me, Oh : 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart. 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh. 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave. 

And time is setting with me, Oh : 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne*er trouble them nor thee, Oh." 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide. 
She sees his pale corpse on the plain. Oh : 

My true love, she cried, and sank down by his side. 
Never to rise again, Oh. 

Qq 



458 

SONG. 

SY ALLAN STREAM, 8^c. 

' ^ Tune — Alla7i Watet\ 

BY Allan stream I chanced to rove, 
Whik Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi : 
The winds were whispering thro' the grove, 

The yellow corn was waving ready : 
I listened to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony, 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang— 
O dearly do I lo'e thee, Annie J 

O happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking said, <^ Fm thine for ever !" 
While mony a kiss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' springs, the primrose brae. 

The simmer joys, the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery, thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart. 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart. 

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? 



459 

SONG. 

THOU HAST LEFT ME EVEE. 

Tune — Savo ye JoJinie comifigP 

THOU hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left 
me ever. 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death only should us 

sever. 
Now thou's left thy lass for ay — I maun see thee 
never, Jamie, 
ril see thee never. 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me for- 
saken. 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me for- 
saken. 

Thou canst love anither jo, while my heart is break- 
ing: 

Soon my weary een I'll close — never mair to waken, 
Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken. 



SONG. 
BANKS OF CREE. 

HERE is the glen, and here the bower. 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 
The village-bell has told the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid ? 

Qq2 



460 

*Tis not Marians whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale> 
Mixt with some warbler's dying faU 

The dewy star of eve to haih 

It IS Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come f and art thou true I 
O welcome dear to love and me ! 

And let us all our vows renew, 
Along the flowery banks of Cree.. 



SONG- 

ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 

Tune — (yer the hillsy SfC. 

HOW can my poor heart be glad. 
When absent frae my sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego. 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ; 
Let me wander, let me rove. 
Still my heart is with my love \ 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that's far away. ' 

On the seas and far atsoay^ 
On stormy seas and far aisoay; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are ay mth him that's far away. 



461 

When in summer's noon I faint. 
As weary flocks around me pant. 
Haply in this scorching sun, 
My sailor's thundering at his gun : 
Bullets, spare my only joy 1 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate do with me what you may, 
Spare but him that's far away ! 
On the seasy S^c. 



At the starless midnight hour, 
When winter rules with boundless power ^ 
As the storms the forests tear. 
And thunders rend the howling air. 
Listening to the doubling roar, 
Surging on the rocky shore. 
All I can — I weep and pray. 
For his weal that's far away. 
On the seas y S^c* 



Peace thy olive wand extend, 
And bid wild war his ravage end, 
Man with brother man to meet, 
And as a brother kindly greet : 
Then may heaven with prosp'rous. gales^j 
Fill my sailor's welcome sails. 
To my arms their charge convey 
My dear lad that's far away. 
On the seasy Sj-c. 



462 

SONG. 
BONNY JEAN. 

THERE was a lass, and she was fair^ 
At kirk and market to be seen, 
When a' the fairest maids were met. 
The fairest maid was bonny Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mitherV wark^ 

And ay she sung sae merrilie : 
The blythest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest ^ 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers. 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen | 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye. 
And wanton nagies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi* Jeanie to the tryste. 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down v 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown; 

As in the bosom o^ the stream 
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e^en $. 

So trembling, pure^ was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonny Jean. 



463 

And now she works her mither's wark^ 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain 5. 

Yet wist na what her ail might be. 
Or what wad mak her weeL again. 

But did na Jeanie-s heart loup light. 
And did na joy blink in her e'e> 

As Robie tauld a tale of love 
Ae e'enin' on tUe lily lea ? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove j 

His cheek to her's he fondly prest. 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ! 
Or wilt thou leave thy mither's cot. 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me I 

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge. 
Or naething else to trouble thee j 

But stray amang the heather-bells. 
And tent the waving corn wi' me. 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had na will to say him na ; 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,^ 

And love was ay between them twa* 



SONG. 
THE BANKS OF NITH, 

Tune — Robie donna Gat^ach. 

^HE Thames flow proudly to the sea^ 
Where royal cities stately standi 



464 

But sweeter flows the Nith to me, 

Where Gummms ance had high command : 
"When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gaiiy bloom. 
How sweetly wind thy slooping dales. 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom ! 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonny banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ! 



SONG. 

MY SPOUSE, NANCY. 

Tune — Mt/ Jo Janet. 

HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, 
Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
Tho' Fm your wedded wife. 
Yet Fm not your slave, sir. 

« One of two must still obey, 

<^ Nancy, Nancy, 
« Is it maa or woman, say, 

<< My spouse, Nancy ?'* 

If 'tis still the lordly word. 
Service and obedience y 



465 

ril desert my sov'reign lord, 
And so, good b'ye allegiance J 

« Sad will I be, so bereft, 

" Nancy, Nancy, 
« Yet ril try to make a shift, 

** My spouse, Nancy." 

My poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour Fm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust. 

Think, think how you'll bear it. 

<* I will hope and trust in heaven, 

<^ Nancy, Nancy ; 
•* Strength to bear it will be given, 

<« My spouse, Nancy.'* 

Well, sir, "from the silent dead. 

Still rii try to daunt you : 
Ever round your midnight bed 

Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 

" I'll wed another, like my dear, 

" Nancy, Nancy ; 
« Then all hell will fly for fear, 

*« My spouse^ Nancy." 

SONG. 
WHISTLE AND I'LL COME TO YOU, 

O WHISTLE and I'll come to you, my lad j 
O whistle an4 I'll come to you, my lad ; 
Though father and mother and a' should gae madj 
O whistle and I'll come to you, my lad. 



466 

But warily tent, when you come to court me^ 
And come na unless the back-yet t be a-jee ; 
Syne up the back style, and let nae body see. 
And come as ye were na comin to me. 
And come, &c. 
O wkistlcy 8^c^ 

At kirk, or at market, whenever ye meet me. 
Gang by me as though that ye car'd na a flie 5 
But steal me a blink o' your bonny black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me* 
Yet look, &c. 

nxihistley S^c. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a-wee ^ 
But court na anither, though jokin' ye be. 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, &c. 

O whistle^ 8fc. 



SONG. 
DAINTY DAVIE. 

NOW rosy May comes in wi* flowers, 
To deck her gay green spreading bowcrs'J^ 
And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

Meet me on the txiarloclc Jcnowe^ 

Dainty Davie^ dainty J^avie^ 
There Til spend the day m^ you^ 

My ain dear dainty Davie* 



467 

The chrystal waters round us fa'. 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A-wandering wi' my Davie. 
Meet mcy S^c, 

When purple morning starts the hare. 
To steal upon her early fare. 
Then through the dews I will repair. 
To meet my faithfu' Davie, 
Meet 77iey 8^c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I loe best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 
Meet me^ ^x. 



■»&*-i\*^^ 



SONG. 
LASSIE Wr THE LINT-TVHITE LOCKS. 

Tune — Rothemiirche's Rant. 

Lassie wi^ the lint-'white locks ^ 
Bonny lassie^ artless lassie^ 
Wilt thou "dci^ me tent thejlocksy 
JVilt thou be my dearie^ P 

NOW Nature cleads the flowery lea. 
And a' is young and sweet like thee : 
Q wilt thou share its joy wi' me. 
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O ? 
Lassie m\ ^x. 



463 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower. 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower, 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 

Lassie *wi\ Sfc. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray. 
The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray. 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 

Lassiey wi^ SfC. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Distuil3s my lassie's midnight rest ; 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. 

Lassie *wr the linUwhite locks , 

Bonnie lassie^ artless lassie^ 
Wilt thou w^' me tent thejlocks^ 

Wilt thou he my dearie ^ O ? 

SONG. 
'TWAS NA HER BONNY BLUE E'E, ^c. 

Tune — Laddie lie near me. 

^rr^WAS na her bonny blue e'e was my ruin ; 

X Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the betwitching, sweet, stown glance o' kind- 
ness. 



469^ 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever. 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 

Mary, Fm thine wi' a passion sincerest. 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest ! 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter. 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



SONG. 

MY NANIE'S AWA. 

Tune — Thet^e^ll never be peace^ 4'C. 

NOW in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays. 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the 
braes. 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it's delightless — my Name's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw. 
They mind me o' Nanie — and Nanie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nanie's awa. 
Rr 



470 

Come, Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, 
And soothe me wP tidings o' Nature's decay : 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nanie'i awa. 

SONG. 

HERE'S A HEALTH, ^c. 

Here's a health to ane I Ide dear, 

Here^s a health to ane I Ide dear ; 

Thou art snxieet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 

And soft as the parting tear — Jess^ ! 

ALTHOUGH thou maun never be mine, 
Although even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, Sfc. 

1 mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day. 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber^ 
For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, S^c. 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 
But why urge the tender confession, 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel degree — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, Sfc, , 



471 

SONG. 
O MAY, THY MORN'. 

OMAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 
As the mirk night o' December ^ 
For sparkling was the rosy wine. 
And private was the chamber : 
And dear was she I dare na name. 
But I will ay remember. 
And dear^ <$v. 

And here's to them, that, Hke oursel. 

Can push about the jorum •, 
And here's to them that wish us weel. 

May a' that's guid watch o'er them : 
And here's to them we dare na tell, 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's tOy ^x. 



SONG. 
LASS 0' BALLO'CHMYLE. 

5 nr^ WAS even — ^the dewy fields were green, 

Jl On every blade the pearls hang ; 
The Zephyr wanton'd round the bean. 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while. 
Except where green-wood echoes rang 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 
Rr2 



472 

With careless step I onward stray'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye. 

Her air like nature's vernal smile. 
Perfection whisper'd passing by. 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild ; 
When roving thro' the garden gay. 

Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile ; 
Even there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O had she been a country maid^ 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scotland's plain ! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain. 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Then pride might climb the slippery steep ; 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep. 

Or downward seek the Indian mine •, 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks or till the sgil. 
And every day has joys divine. 

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle, 



473 

SONG. 
EVAN BANKS. 

SLOW spreads the gloom my soul desires, 
The sun from India's shore retires ^ 
To Evan Banks, with temp'rate ray. 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 
Oh banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh stream, whose murmurs still I hear ! 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde* 

And she in simple beauty drest. 
Whose image lives within my breast ; 
Who trembling, heard my parting sigh. 
And long pursu'd me with her eye \ 
Does she with heart unchanged as mine. 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ? 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound ! 
Ye lavish woods that wave around. 
And o'er the stream your shadows throw. 
Which sweetly winds so far below y 
What secret charm to mem'ry brings,. 
All that on Evan's border springs ; 
Sweet banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side : 
Blest stream ! she views thee haste to Clyde. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ? 
Return, ye moments of delight. 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 
Rr 3 



474 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
Nor more may ought my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to Clyde* 



SONG, 
AE FOND KISSy ^c. 

AE fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae farewell, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears Fll pledge thee^ 
Warring sighs and groans Fll wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love herj 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly. 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly. 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure \ 
Ae fond kiss, and then v/e sever ; 
Ae farewell, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee. 
Warring sighs and groans Fll wage thee* 



475 

SONG. 

NOW BANK AN' BRAE, ^c. 

NOW bank an' brae are claith'd in green. 
An' scattered cowslips sweetly spring. 
By Girvan's fairy haunted stream, 
The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassilis' banks when e'ening fa's. 

There wi' my Mary let me flee. 

There catch her ilka glance of love. 

The bonny blink o' Mary's e'e. 

The child wha boasts o' warld's wealth, 

Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain. 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassilis' banks, 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me. 
And catch her ilka glance o' love. 

The bonny blink o' Mary's e'e ! 



SONG. 
OUT OVER THE FORTH, 4c. 

OUT over the Forth I look to the north. 
But what is the north and its Highlands to me ? 
The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest. 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best. 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 



476 

SONG- 
LmES ON A PLOUGHMAN. 

AS I was a wand'ring ae morning in spring, 
I heard a young Ploughman sae sweetly to sing, 
And as he was singing thir words he did say, 
There's nae life like the Ploughman in the month 
o' sweet May. — 

The lav'rock in the morning shell rise frae her nest. 
And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast. 
And wi' the merry Ploughman she'll whistle and 

sing. 
And at night she'll return to her nest back again* 

SONG. 
FLL AY C A' IN BY YON TOWN. 

I^LL ay ca' in by yon town. 
And by yon garden green again ^ 
I'll ay ca' in by yon town. 

And see my bonny Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess^ 
What brings me back the gate again^ 

But she my fairest, faithfu' lass. 
And stownlins we sail meet again. 

She'll wander by the aiken-tree. 

When trystin-time draws near again j 

And when her lovely form I SQQy 
O haith, she's doubly dear again.!: 



477 

ni ay ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green again ^ 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 

And see my bonny Jean again. 

SONG. 
WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. 

FIRST when Maggy was my care. 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air j 
Now we're married — spier nae mair— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonny Meg was nature's child, 
— Wiser men than me's beguil'd ; 
Whistle o'er the lave o't. 

How we live, my Meg and me. 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
Wha I wish were maggot's meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



SONG. 
THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Tune — Push about the Jorum. 

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 
Then let the loons beware, sir. 
There's wooden walls upon our seas, 
And volunteers on shore, sir. 



478 

The Nith shall run to Corsincon^ 

And Criffel sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally. 

Fal de ral^ S^c. 

O let us not like snarling tykes 

In wrangling be divided -, 
Till slap come in an unco loon^ 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted- 
Fal de ral^ SfC* 

The kettle o^ the kirk and state^ 

Perhaps a claut may fail in't ; 
The deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't. 
Our father's bluid the kettle bought^ 

And wha wad dare to spoil it — 
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fal d€ raly %c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch, his true-born brother^ 
Who'd set the mob aboon the throne^ 

May they be damn'd together. 
Who will not sing, " God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple •, 
But while we sing, <^ God save the King," 

We'll ne'er forget the people.. 
Fal de ral^ S(c* 



479 

SONG. 
SCOTS WHA HAE, ^c. 

SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled ; 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed. 
Or to glorious victorie ! 

Now's the day, and now's the hour •, 
See the front of battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
Caledonian, on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains. 
By your sons in servile chains. 
We will drain our dearest veins. 

But they shall be — shall be free. 

Lay the proud usurpers low. 
Tyrants fall in every foe •, 
Liberty's In every blow. 

Forward ! let us do, or die ! 



480 

SONG. 
FAREWELL, THOU FAIR DAY. 

FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, 
and ye skies. 
Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, 
Our race of existence is run. 

^f hou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 

Go frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know 

No terrors hast thou to the brave. 

Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark. 
Nor saves even the wreck of a name : 

Thou strik'st the young hero, a glorious mark ! 
He falls in the blaze of his fame. 

In the field of proud honor, our swords in our hands, 

Our king and our country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 

O, who would not die with the brave ! 



^^^"^j^m 




?s^* 



GLOSSARY. 



THE ch and gli have always the gutteral sound. 
The sound of the English diphthong oo^ is com- 
monly spelled ou. The French w, a sound which 
often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked 
ooy or ui. The a in genuine Scottish words, ex- 
cept when forming a diphthong, or followed by an 
e mute after a single consonant, sounds generally 
like the broad English a in ^walL The Scottish 
diphthong ae^ always, and ea^ very often, sound 
like the French e masculine The Scottish diph- 
thong ey^ sounds like the Latin ei. 



A\ all 

Ahack^ away, aloof 
Abeigh, at a shy distance 
Aboon, above, up 
Already abroad, in sight 
Ae^ one 

AJ'y off; Affloofy unpreme- 
ditated 
Aferey before 
Afty oft 
Aftetiy often 



Agleyy off the right line, 

wrong 
Aiblins, perhaps 
Ain^ own 

AirUjienny^ earnest»money 
Airriy iron 
A'lthy an oath 
Aitst oats 

Alver^ an old horse 
Aizky a hot cinder 
A k warty awkward 
Alaie, alas 



482 



Alane^ alone 

Amaht^ almost 

Amang^ among 

An\ and, if 

Ance^ once 

Ane^ one, an 

A nit her y another 

Artfu\ artful 

Ase^ ashes 

Asklent, asquint, aslant 

Asteerj abroad, stirring 
x^Athorfy athwart 

Aughty eight, possession, as 
in a* my aught^ in all my 
possession 

Auldy old 

Auld farran^ or auld farrant, 
sagacious, cunning, pru- 
dent 

Auld lang stjne^ old time, 
days of other years 

Ava\ at all 

A<wa*y away 

Awfu^t awful 

Awn^ the beard of barley, 
oats, &c. 

Aivnie^ bearded 

Aifont^ beyond 

B 

Ba\ ball 

Bachlins comings coming 

back, returning 
Bad^ did bid 
Bade^ endured, did stay 
B aggie i the belly 
Bainie, having large bones, 

stout 
Bairtty a child 



Bairntimej a family of chil- 
dren, a brood 

Baiihf both 

Bane, bone 

Bangy an effort 

Bardie, dimih. of bard 

Barejity barefooted 

Barkefy barked 

Barkiuy barking 

Barmie, of, or like barm 

Bashfu\ bashful 

Batchy a crew, a gang 

Battsy bots 

Baudfonsy a cat 

Bauky a cross beam ; Bauh" 
erCy the end of a beam 

Bauldy bold ; Bauld^y boldly 

Baws^nfy having a white 
stripe down the face 

Bey to let bcy to give over, 
to cease 

Beastiey dimiti. of beast 

Beety to add fuel to fire 

Befa\ to befall 

Behinty or behin\ behind 

Beldy bald 

Belly^fu\ belly full 

Belyvcy by and by 

Beuy into the spence or par- 
lour 

Benlomondy a, noted moun- 
tain in Dunbartonshire 

Beuiy a book 

Be'ty be it 

Betkankitj the grace after 
meat 

Bichery a kind of wooden 
dish, a short race 

Biel^ or bield, shelter 



483 



j&/V«, wealthy, plentiful 

Blgy to build ; ^/o-^^/jbuilded 

Biggen^ building, a house 

Bill, a bull 

Billie, a brother, a young 
fellov^ 

Bwgy a heap of grain, pota- 
*ioes, &c. 

^/V/', birch 

B'trken-shawj Blrhn-wood- 
shanv^ a small wood 

Birkte, a clever fellow 

Birring, tlie noise of par- 
tridges, Sec, when they 
spring 

Bit, crisis, nick of time 

Bizz, a bustle, to buzz 

Blastie^ a shrivelled dwarf, 
a term cf contempt 

Blastiti blasted 

Blatey bashful, sheepish 

Blathery bladder 

Bland, a flat piece of any 
thing J to slap 

Blawy to blow, boast 

Bleatin, bleating 

Bleert and hlin\ bleered and 
bhnd 

Bkeritj bleared, sore with 
rheam 

Bleezing, blazing 

BUssin^ blessing 

Blether, to talk idly, nonsense 

Bleih'ren, talking idly 

Blink, a little while, a smi- 
ling look ; to look kindly, 
to shine by fits 

Blinker, a term of contempt 

Blinking smirking; 



Bluegoivn, one of those beg- 
gars who get annually, on 
the King's birth day, a 
blue cloak or gown with 
a badge 
Bluntie, snivelling 
Bluid, blood ; Bluidt/, bloody 
Blushty did blush 
Blijpe, a shred, a large piece 
Boch, to vomit, to gush in- 
termittently 
Bochd, gushed, vomited 
Bodle, a small old' coin 
Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins 
BoTinii', or honntj, handsome, 

beautiful 
BonniUe, handsomely, beau- 
tifully 
Boonock^ kind of thick cake 

of bread 
Boord,, a board 
Boortree, the shrub elder, 
planted much of old in 
hedges of bam-yards, &c« 
Boost, behoved, must needs 
Botch, an angry tumor 
Bother, to pother 
BoW'hail, cabbage 
Bowt, bended, crooked 
Brachens, fern 
Brae, a declivity, a precipice, 

the slope of a hill 
Braid, broad 
Bra'ih, a kind of harrow 
Braindge, to run rashly for- 
ward 
Braind^gt, reeled forward 
Brak^ broke, made insolvent 
Branks, a kind of woodea 
curb for horses 



4S4- 



Bvaslh a sudden illness 

Brats^ coarse clothes, rags 

Brattle^ a short race, hurry, 
fury 

Branx)^ fine, handsome 

Brawly^ or Braivlte^ very 
well, finely, heartily 

Bra'zv/iiey stout, brawny 

Braxley a morkln sheep, 5cc. 

Breaking breaking 

Brsastie^ diniin. of breast 

Breasilty did spring up or 
forward 

Breathing breathing 

Breef^ an invulnerable or ir* 
resistible spell 

Breehsy breeches 

Bvent^ smooth 

Bretinn, brewing 

Brief juice, liquid 

Brlgy a bridge 

Brlnstafie^ brimstone 

Brisk ty the breast,the bosom 

Brither^ a brother 

Brogue, a hum, a trick 

Broo] broth, liquid, water 

Broose^ a race at country 
weddings, who shall first 
reach the bridegroom's 
house, on returning from 
church 

Brughy a burgh 

Bruthtey a broil, a combus- 
tion 

Bruntf did burn 

Brusty to burst 

Buds kin f an inhabitant of 
Virginia 

Bughtin'timei the time of col- 



lecting the sheep in the 

pens to be milked 
Bughty a pen 

Buirdiyy stout-made, broad- 
built 
Bum^clacky a humming beetle 

that flies in the summer 

evenings 
Bumminy humming as bees 
Bummlery d, blunderer 
Bummliriy to blunder 
Burey did bear 
Burny water, a rivulet 
Burnewirif i. e. lurn the 

ivindy a blacksmith 
Burnley dim in. of burn 
Busiie^ bushy 
Bus kit, dressed 
Bossy shelter 

BusUy a bustle ; to bustle 
But, without 
But an^ bcuy the country 

kitchen and parlour 
Bj/ himself y lunatic, distract- 

ed 
Byrey a cow- stable 

C 

Ca^y to call, to name, to 

drive 
Cadgery a carrier 
Cadisy or caddhy a person, 

a young fellow 
Caffy chafF 
Cairdy a tinker 
Cairn, a loose heap of stones 
CaJf'ivard, a small inclosure 

for calves 
Callan.y a boy 



4S5 



Caller^ fresh, sound 

Carrij came 

Carina^ cannot 

Canniey gentle, nrytld, dex- 
trous 

Carimlie, dextronsly, gently 

Cantharkliany naade of can- 
tharides 

Cantie, or canty, cheerful, 
merry 

Cantraifiy a charm, a spell 

Cafi'Staney cop-stone, key- 
stone 

Careenrty cheerfully 

Caressing caressing 

Carlin, a stout old woman 

Carry'iTty carrying 

GarteSf cards 

Ca'ty or ca'cly called, driven, 
calved 

Cauhl, cold 

Caufi, a wooden drinking 
vessel 

Chanter y a part of a bag pipe 

Chantin, chanting 

Chafiy a person, a fellow, a 
blow 

Cheerful cheerful 

Qheekity checked 

Cheefi, a chirp ; to chirp 

Qhiely or cheely a young fel- 
low 

Chimloy or ckimliey a fire- 
grate 

Chimld'lugy the fire- side 

Chitteringy shivering, tremb- 
ling 

Chockin^ choking 



Cho^j to chew; chei for 
cJioixxy side by side 

Chuffie, fat-faced 

Clachany a small village a- 
bout a church, a hamlet 

Clatsey or clasTey clothes 

Clatthy cloth ; el ait king y 
clothing 

Clap, clapper of a mill 

Clarkety wrote 

Clash, an idle tale, the story 
of the day 

Clatter, to tell little idle sto- 
ries ; an idle story 

Clauty to clean, to scrape 

Clautedy scraped 

Claversy idle stories 

Claivy to scratch 

Cleed, to clothe 

Ctinhn, jf iking, clinking 

Clinhumhelly who rings the 
church bell 

Cl'tfuy sheers 

Cllshmaclavery idle conver- 
sation 

Clocky to hatch ; a beetle 

Clock'in, hatching 

Ciooty the hoof of a cow, 
sheep, &c. 

Clootie, an old name for the 
devil 

Cludsy clouds 

Clour^ a bump or a swelling 
after a blow 

Coaxiuy wheedling 

Cohky a fishing'boat 

Cociernonj/y a lock of hair 
tied up on a girl's head, 
a cap 
S3 



4SG 



Cogy a wooden dish 

Coggicy dim in. of cog 

COILA^ from Kyle, a dis- 
trict of Ayrshire, so called 
saith tradition, from Coil or 
Coilus, a Pictish monarch 

Collie^ a general, and some- 
times a particular name 
for country curs 

CoUieshangiey quarreling 

Gomlriy coming 

Commautiy command 

CoocJy the cud 

Coofy a blockhead, a ntnny 

Gaokity appeared and disap- 
peared by fits 

Costy did cast 

Cootiey wooden kitchen dish, 
also those fowls, whose 
legs are clad with feathers, 
are said to be cootie 

Corey corps, party, clan 

CorrCty fed with oats 

Qottevy the inhabitant of a 
cot-house or cottage 

Couthiey kind, loving 

Co'vcy a cave 

Convey to terrify, to keep 
under, to lop ; a fright, a 
branch of furzejbroomj&c. 

Cpwpy to barter, to tumble 
over ; a garrg 

Cowfiity tumbled 

Cowrini cowering 

Coiviey a colt 

Cozky snug ; co%ili/y snugly 

Crabhity ciabbed, fretful 

Crack J conversation ;. to con- 
verse 

Craciiaj coaversing 



Cra/i^ or croft, a field'near a 

house, in old husbandry 
Craiky name of a bird 
Crambo- clink or crambo-jingky 

rhymes, doggerel verses 
Cranky the noise of an un- 

greased wheel 
Crankousy fretful, captious 
Cranreuchy tlie hoar frost 
Crapy a crop, to top 
Crawy a crow of a cock, a 

rook 
Creely a basket ; to have one's 

wit in a cred, to becraz'd^ 

to be fascinated 
Creepiny creeping 
Creeshicy greasy 
Cronicy crony, an old ac* 

quaintance 
Crood or croudy to coo a«^ a 

dove 
Croouy a hollow continued 

moan ; to make a noise 

like the continued roar oF 

a bull, to hum a tune 
Crooningy humming 
Crouchiey crook-backed 
Crouscy cheerful, courageous 
Crouslyy cheerfully, courage- 
ously 
Crowdtcy a dish made of oat* 

meal 
Croivdietimey breakfast-time^ 
CrowHnj crawling 
Crumpy hard and brittle^ 

spoken of bread i 

C runty a blow on the head 

with a cudgel 
Crushin, crushing, crusht^ 

crushed 



48'J 



Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cummock, a short staff with 
a crooked head 

Curchie, a courtesy 

Curler, a player at ice 
^ Curlie, curled, whose hair 
falls naturally in ringlets 

Curling, a well known game 
on ice 

Curmurring, murmuring, a 
slight rumbling noise 

Curfi'tn, the crupper 

Ckishaty the dove or wood- 
pigeon 

Cuiti/y short 

D 

Baddiey si father 
Daffiriy merriment, foolish- 
ness 
Dafiy merry, giddy, foolish 
Daimen, rare, now and then ; 
ilaimen-icier, an ear of 
corn now and then 
Dainty, pleasant, good hu- 
moured, agreeable 
Dancin, dancing 
DappVt, dappled 
Darklings, darkling 
Daudy to thrash ; to abuse 
Daur, to dare, daurU, dared 
Daurg or daurk^ a day's la- 
bour 
Davoc, David 
Dawd, a large piece 
Da'wtit or daivtet, fondled, 

caressed 
Dearies, dimin. of dears 
Dearthfu\ dear 
DeavCf to deafen 



DeiUma'Care ! no matter f. 

for all that ! 
Deleeret, delirious 
Delvin, delving 
Descrive, to describe- 
Deservin, deserving 
Delve, a. stunning blow 
Dig/if, to wipe, to clean cora 
from chaff; cleaned front 
chafF 
DimhPt, dimpled 
Ding, to worst, to push 
Dlnna, do not 
Dlrl, a slighttremulous stroke 

or pain 
Disrespeciet, disrespected 
D\%%en or di'z'n, a dozen 
Di%'zie, dizzy, giddy 
Doited, stupi^ed, hebetated 
Dolefu' doleful 
Dolt, siupified, crazed 
Donsie, unlucky 
Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool^ 

to lament, to moura 
Doos, doves 
Dorty, saucy, nice 
Douce or douse, sober, wise, 

prudent 
Doucely, sobeily, prudently 
Dou'^ht, was or were able 
Doupy backside 
Doupskelper, one that strikes 

the tail 
Doure, stout, durable, stub- 
born, sullen 
Dour and din, sullen, sallow 
Doiv^ am or are able 
i^o-ztj^pithlessywantingforce 
DowJe, worn with grief, fa- 
tigue, &c* 



48S 



Domma^ am or are not able, 
cannot 

DgijU. stupid 

Drap, a drop ; to drop 

D rapping d r o pp i n g 

Drauniings d ra wli ng 

Dreadfu^^ dreadful 

Dreep, to ooze, to drop 

JDrteptng^ cozing, dropping 

Dribbk, drizzling, slaver 

Dretgh, slow • 

Drifts a. drove 

Drinh'in,. drinkinof 

JDroddum^ the breech 

Dronpy part of a bag pipe 

Droap'Tumprt, that droops 
at the crupper 

Droukity ^yet 

Drouth, thirstj drought 

Druchen, drunken 

Drurnhly, muddy 

JDrummock^ meal arid water 
mixed raw 

Drunty pet, sour humour 

Dry in, drying 

Dub, a small pond 

Duddie, ragged 

Dudsy rags, cloches 

Dungy worsted, pushed, dri- 
ven 

Dunted^ boxt 

Dush^ to push as a ram, &c. 

Dusht, pushed by a ram, 
ox, &c. 



E^e, the eye ; eeUf the eyes 
£'enm, evening 
Eerie, frighted, dreading 
spirits 



Eild, old age 
Elhuck, the elbow 
Eldritch, ghastly, frightful 
En\ end 

Enbrugh, Edinburg» 
Eneugh, enough 
Ensuin, ensuing 
Esfiecial, espeeially 
E^dent, dii'igenc 

F 

Fa, fall, lot ; to faH 

Fa's, does fall> water-falfe 

FacU, faced 

Faddontt, fathomed 

Fae, 2l foe 

Faem, foam 

Fairin, a fairing, a present 

Faithfu\ faithful 

Falh^ix}, fellow 

Fand, did find 

Fare^weel, fare we J 

Farl^ a cake of bread 

Fash, trouble, care; to trou- 
ble, to care for 

Fash'ty troubled 

Fastern-een, Fasten's Even* 

Fathrals, fatt'rilsy ribboft 
ends, &c 

Fauld, a fold ; to fold 

Faulding, folding 
\ Faut, fault 

Fawsont, decent, seemly 

Fearfu^ frightful 

Fear*t frighted 
M Feat, neat, spruce 

Fecht, to fight; fechtin^ 
fighting 

Fechet, waistcoat 

F€ckfu\ large, brawny, stout 



45^ 



FeclUssy P'Jny, weak, silly 

Feg, a fig 

Feuy successful, struggle, 
fight 

Feide^ feud, enmity 

Felly keen, biting : the flesh 
immediately under the 
skin ; a field pretty level 
on the side or top of a hill 

Fcml, to live comfortably 

Ferlie or ferli^ to wonder ; 
a wonder, a term of con- 
tempt 

Fdcky to pull by fits 

FetchU^ pulled intermittently 

Fidge^ to fidget 

Fidgiriy fidgeting ^ 

Fiel^ soft, smooth 

Ftety fiend, a petti/ oath 

Fiety sound, healthy ; a bro- 
ther, a fiiend 

Fiski to make a rustling 
noise, to fidget ; a bustle 

Fity a foot 

Fitte'Iatt^y the near horse of 
the hindmost pair in the 
plough 

Fi%%y to make a hissing 
noise, like fermentation 

Flaineriy flannel 

Flattering flattering 

Fleeckj to supplicate in a 
flattering manner 

Fleechitty supplicating 

Fleesky a fleece 

Flegy a kick, a random blow 

F^ether^ to decoy by fair 

words 
Fietherin^ flattering 
Fleif^ to scar, to frightea 



Fleij*dy frighted, scared 
Flichtery to flutter as young 
nestlings when their dam 
approaches 
Flichterin^ fluttering 
FTtndersy shreds, broken 

pieces 
Flingin-treey a piece of tim- 
ber hung by way of par- 
tition between two horses 
in a stable, a flail 
FUchenngy to meet, to er> 

counter with 
Flisky to fret at the yoke 
FHskety fretted 
Flitlery to vibrate like the 

wings of small birds 
Flittering^ fluttering, vibra- 
ting 
Flunkiey a servant in livery 
Fly in y flying 
Foaminy foaming 
Foordy a ford 
Forbears.y forefathers 
Forbycy besides 
Forfatriiy distressed, worn 

out, jaded 
Forgethery to meet, to, ea- 

counter with 
Forgicy to forgive 
Forjeskity jaded with fatigue 
- Forming forming" 
Father y fodder 
Fou\ full, drunk 
Fought en y troubled, harrassed 
Fo^Vy a bushel, 5c c. 
Fracy from 
Freathy froth 
Frien^'y friend 
Fu\ {^xW^ drunk 



♦90 



Fudy the scut of the hare, 
coney, &c. 

Fuff, to blow intermittently 

Fuff't, did blow 

Funnle, full of merriment 

Fur^ a furrow 

Form, a form, bench 

Fifteen, fifteen 

Fyke ; triffling cares ; to pid- 
dle, to be in a fuss about 
triffles 

Fijhy to soil, to dirty 

i^/V, soiled, dirtied 

G 

Gal, the mouth : to speak 

boldly or pertly 
Gaber-lunzie, an old m^n 
Gadstnan^ plough boy, the 

boy that drives tlie horses 

in the plough 
Gacy to go ; gaedy went ; 

gaen or gane, gone ; gauriy 

going 
Gaet or gate^ way, manner, 

road 
Gang, to go, to wafk 
Gar, to make, to force to 
Gar't, forced to 
Garteriy a garter 
Gashy wise, sagacious, talka- 
tive ; to converse 
Gashirty conversing 
Gate^ way, manner 
Gathering gathering 
GaucTj^ jolly, large 
Gear^ riches, goods of any 
. kind 
Gech, to toss the head in 

yrantonness or scorn 



Gedy a pike 

Gentles y great fo'ks 

Geordky a guinea 

Gety a child, a young one 

Glcy to give, Giedi gave^ 

GVeny given 
G'tftle, dimin. of gift 
Gdlley dimin. of gill 
Gimmer, a ewe from one to 

two years old 
Giuy if, against 
Gifiset/, a young girl 
Girn, to grin, to twist the 

features in rage, agony, Sec* 
Girningy grinning 
Gi%%y a periwig 
Gkahty a ghost 
GigletSj playful girls 
Glalkity inattentive, foolish 
Glai%ie^ glittering, smooth^ 

like a glass 
Glaum^dy aimed, snatched 
Gleg^ sharp, ready 
Glelby glebe 
Gleuy dale, deep valley 
Glei/y 2i squint: to squint. 

Agleijy off at a side, wrong 
Glib gabhety that speaks 

smoothly and readily 
Gliniy to peep; Glintedy 

peeped ; Giinting^ peeping 
Gloamingy the twilight 
Glowry to stare, to look ; a 

stare, a look 
Glotvr'dy looked, stared 
Gloti^rlngy staring 
Gluncky a frown \ to frown 
i Gonvany the flower of the 

daisy, dandelion^ hawk^ 

weed, &c. 



491 



Gowany^ gowany glens, dai- 
sied dales 

Gowdf gold 

GoivJ^y the game of golf; 
to strike as the bat does 
the ball at golf 

Go'uff'd, struck 

Gowky a cuckoo, a term of 
contempt 

Go^jjU to howl 

Goivling, howling 

Graceful gaceful 

Grained, groaned 

Graining, groaning 

Grai/i, a pronged instrument 
for cleaning stables 

Grailk, accoutrements, fur- 
niture, dress ; gier 

Grane or grain, a groan ; to 
groan 

Grannie, a grandmother 

Grape, to grope ; grapit^ 
groped 

Grat, wept, shed tears 

Great, intimate, fimiliar 

Greatfu*, grateful 

Gree, to agree, to hear the 
gree, to be decidedly victor 

Greet, to shed tears, to weep 

Greetin, crying, weeping 

Gree't, agreed 

Grie'vin, grieving 

Grippiet, catched, siezed 

Grissle, gristle 

Groat, to get the ivhistle of 
one's groat, to play a losing 
game 

Grousomc, loathsomely, grim 

Grozet, a gooseberry 

Grumph, a grunt ; to grunt 



Grumphie, a sow 

Grunzie, mouth 

Grun% ground 

Gruntle, the phiz, a grunt* 
ing noise 

Grunstane, a grindstone 

Grushie, thick, of thriving 
grov/th 

GuDE, the Supreme Be- 
ing ; good 

Quid, good ; Guid mornin, 
good morrow ; Guid sen 
good evening 

Guidfathcr^ giddmother, fa- 
ther in-law and mother- 
in law 

Guidman and giud'wife, the 
master and mistress of the 
house ; T^oung guidman, a 
man newly married 

Gnlly or guUie, a large knife 

Gumlie, muddy 

Gustij, tasteful 

H 

Ha\ hall 

Ha^ bible, the great bibl« 
that lies in the hall 

Hae, to have 

Haet, Jiet haet, a petty oath 
of negation, nothing 

Haffat, the temple, the side 
of the head 

Haffms, nearly half, partly 

Hag, a scar or gulph in mos- 
ses and moors 

Haggis, a kind of pudding 
boiled in the stomach of 
a cow or sheep 



492 



HaiTiy to spare, to save, 
hatti'dy spared 

Hatrsty harvest 

Haithy a petty oath 

Haldol' hald^ an abiding place 

Haky whole, tight, healthy 

Hallan^ a particular partition 
wall in a cottage 

Hahjy holy 

Harney home, Hameward, 
homeward 

Hamelyy homely, affable 

Hati* or haun^y hand 

Hafiy an outer garment, man- 
tie, plaid, &g. to wrap 
cover, to hap 

Hajifiingy hopping 

HaJt'Siefi'anlowp,y hop, skip, 
and leap 

Hafifieryd. hopper 

Harhity hearkened 

Hash* a sot 

Haslity hastened 

Haudy to hold 

HaugJiSy low-lying, rich 
lands, vallies 

Haurly to drag, to peel 

HaurTiny peeling 

Haverely a half-witted, per- 
son ; halfwitted 

Havinsy good manners, de- 
corum, good sen?e 

Ha^vkiey a cow, propeily one 
with a white face 

Heahomcy healthful, whole- 
some 

Heauy had, the partiapJe 

Heapity heaped 

Hearse y hoarse 

HearU^ hear it 



Heather, heath 

Hech ! 0\ strange 

Hechty to fortel, something 
that is to be got or gi- 
ven ; foretold ; the thing 
foretold ; offered 

Hee%ey to elevate, to raise 

Heckky 2l board in which 
are fixed a number of 
sharp.pins, used in dressing 
hemp, flax, &c. 

Heliniy helm or rudder 

Herdy to tend flocks ; one 
who tends flocks 

Hersely herself 

Herrlriy a herring 

Herrijy to plunder, most pr9» 
perly to plunder birds nests 

Herri/mcnty plundering, de- 
vastation 

Hety hot 

Heughy a crag, a coal pit 

Hilchy to hobble, to halt 

Hdchiriy halting 

Himsely himself 

Hmeijy honey 

Hhigy to hang 

Hirpiey to walk crazily, to 
creep ; Hirpliny creeping 

Hlssely so many cattle as one 
person can attend 

Histiey dry, chapt, barren 

Hitch y a loop, a knot 

Hi%%ie, hussy, a young girl 

Hoddiriy the motion of a 
sage countryman riding on 
a cart horse 

Hog scorey a kind of dis- 
tance line, in curling, 
drawn across the rink 



493 



Hog'shoullury a kind of 
horse play by justling with 
the shoulder ; to justle 
HooU outer skin or case 
HooUe, slowly, leisurely ; 
Hooliel take leisure! stop! 
Hoordy a hoard ; to hoard 
Hoordit^ hoarded 
Horrii a spoon made of horn 
Hornie^ one of the many 

names of the devil 
Hosty to cough ; Hostiuy 

coughing 
Houghmagandiey fornication 
Housie, dimin. of house 
Hove, to -heave, swell 
Hov^d, heaved, swelled 
Howdiey a midwife 
Howe^ hollow ; a hollov/, 

or dell 
Howe-hacket^ sunk in the 
back, spoken of a horse, 
&c. 
Howffy a landlady, a house 

of resort 
Howky to dig; Howktfy dig- 
ged, Howhiny digging 
Hozulet, an owl 
Hotfy to urge ; Hot/t, urged 
Hoyse, a pulling upwards 
Hoijtey to amble crazi'y 
Hughoc, dimin. of Hugh 
j/^wr^/^j-jtheloins, the crupper 
Hushiotii cushion 



Icker^ an ear of corn 
ler-oey a great grandchild 



Tt 



Ilk or Ilka, each, every 
IlUivUUe, ill-natured, mali- 
cious, niggardly 
Ind^ntin, indenting 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity 
Ingky fire, fire place 
Pse, I shall or will 
Ither, other, one another 



Jady jade ; also a familiar 

term among country folks 

for a giddy young girl 
Jauky to dally, to trifle 
Jaukiriy trifling, dallying 
Jawy coarse raillery ; to 

pour out, to spurt, to jerk 

as water 
Jaup, a jirk of water ; to 

jerk as agitated v/ater 
Jillety a jilt, a giddy girl 
Jimpy to jump ; slender in 

the waist, handsome 
Jwgliny jingling 
Jinky to dodge, to turn a 

corner ; a sudden turning 

a corner 
J'lnkert that turns quickly, 

a gay sprightly girl, a wag 
Jinhtny dodging 
Jirty a jerk 

Joctelegy a kind of knife 
Johhiy joking 
Jouk^ to stoop, to bow the 

head 
Jowy to jow, a verb which 

includes boththe.swinging 

motion and pealing sound 

of a large bell 



4945 



Joi/fu\ joyful 
Jumfiln^ jumping 
Jumfiitj did jump 
Jundlej to jus tie 

K 

Kae^ a daw 

Kail^ colewort, a kind of 

broth 
Kail runt^ the stem of the 
colewort 
^Katriy fowls, &c. paid as 
rent by a farmer 
Kebbucki a cheese 
Keek^ a peep ; to peep 
Keepit^ kept 

Kelfites^ a sort of mischievous 
spirits, said to haunt fords 
and ferries at night, espe- 
cially in storms 
Ken J to know ; hndoxherUt^ 

knew 
Kenspeckk^ well known 
Kennin^ d, small matter 
Kkf a matted, hairy fleece 

of wool 
Kiaughy carking anxiety 
Kilty to truss up the clothes 
Ktmmer, a young girl, a 

gossip 
Kin, kindred 
Kin\ kind 

King^s hoody a, certain part 

of the entrails of an ox, 

&c. 

Kintra rooj^r,country stallion 

Kirny the harvest supper, a 

churn ; to churn 
Kirseuy to christen 
Kisty chest, a shop counter 



Kikheny any thing that eats 
with bread ; to serve for 
soup, gravy, 6cc. 

Kithy kindred 

Kittky to tickle ; ticklish, 
lively 

KittUny a young cat 

Kiutliny cuddling 

Kiiittky to cuddle 

Knaggiey like knags or points 
of rocks 

Knappin hammer y a hammer 
for breaking stones 

KnowBy a small round hillock 

Knurly dwarf 

Kyey cows 

KTLEy a district of Ayr- 
shire 

Ki/tey the belly 

Kythey to discover, to show 
one's self 



LaddiCy dimin, of lad 
Laggeny the angle between 

the side and bottom of a 

wooden dish 
Laighy low 
Lairingy wading, and sinking 

in snow, mud, &c. 
Laithy loath 
Laithfu\ bashful, sheepish 
Lallansy Scottish language 
LambtCy dimin. of lamb 
Lamfiity a kind of shell-fish 
Lan\ land, estate 
Laney lone, my laney tly 

laney ^c. myself, alone, 

&c. thyself alone, &:c. 



495 



Lanelj/, lonely 

Lang^ long, to think lang^ 
to long, to weary 

Lap,^ did leap 

Lapfu\ lapful 

Laughin^ laughing 

Lave^ the rest, the remain- 
der, the others 

Laverock, the lark 

Lawfu\ lawful 

Lawlauy Lowland 

Leakey to leave 

Leali loyal, true, faithful 

Lear, pronounce lare, learn- 
ing 

Lee-hngy live-long 

Lee r'lgy grassy ridge 

Leesome, pleasant 

Leeze me, a phrase of con- 
gratulatory endearment 

Leister, a three pronged dart 
for striking fish 

Leugky did laugh 

Leuk, a look ; to look 

Lthhet, gelded 

Lifty sky 

Lightly, sneeringly, to sneer 
at 

Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to sing 

Limpet, limp'd, hobbled 

Limmer, a kept mistress ; a 
strumpet 

Linh, to trip along . 

Ltnkin, tripping 

Linn, a waterfall 

Lint, flax, lint V the hell, 
flax in flower 

Lintivhlte, a linnet 

Livin, living 

LooMi the place of milking 



Loof, the palm of the hand 
Loaves, plural of loof 
Loot, did let 
Loun, a fellow, a ragamuffin, 

a woman of easy virtue 
Loup, jump, leap 
Lowe, a flame 
Lowin, flaming 
Lowse, to loose 
Lows^d, loosed 
Loivrie, abbieviation of 

Lawrence 
Lug^ the ear, the handle 
Lngget, having a handle 
Luggle, a small wooden dish 

with a handle 
Lum, the chimney 
Lunck^ a large piece of 

cheese, flesh, &c. 
Lunt, a column of smoke ; 

to smoke 
Luntin, smoking 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, 

grey 

M 

Mae, more 

M alien, farm 

Mak, to make ; Mahtrty 
making 

Mair, more 

Maist, most, almost 

Malstly, mostly 

Mallie, Molly 

^ Mang, among 

Manteele, a, mantle 

Mart, marks — this and se- 
veral other nouns, which, 
in English, require an s 



496 



to form the plural, are in 
Scots like the words sheep 
deery the same in both 
numbers 

Mar^s year^ the Rebellion 

. A. D. 1715 

Mashlunii mesling, mixed 
corn 

Masij to mash, as malt, Sec 

Mas kin fiaty a tea-pot 

Mauuy must 

Maukirij a hare 

Mavis y the thrush 

Md^jjy to mow; mawin, 

mowing 
- Meere^ a mare 

Meichle^ much 

Melancholiousy mournful 

MelU to meddle 

Meh'tey to soil with meal 

Men\ to amend 

Mense^ good manners, de- 
corum 

Mtnselessy ill-bred, rude, im 
prudent 

Messiuy a small dog 

Middin^ a dunghill 

Middtn-hole, a gutter at the 
bottom of the dung- hill 

Mim, prim, affectedly, meek 

Mln\ mind, remembrance 

Mindfu^y mindful 

MindU^ mind it, resolved, 
intending 

Minnie^ mother, dam 

M'lrh or miriist, dark, dark- 
est 

Misca\ to abuse, to call 
names 

Misca^d, abused 



Mlslear^dy mischievous, un» 

mannerly 
Misteuky mistook 
Mithery a mother 
Mixtie-maxt'tei confusedly 

mixed 
Moiiy labour 
Motstifyy to moisten 
Moofiy to nibble as a sheep 
Moorlatiy of or belonging to 

moors 
Mony or montCy many 
Moruy the next day, to- 
morrow 
Mottiey full of motes 
Mouy the mouth 
Motidteworty a mole 
Mournfu^y mournful 
Mousiey dimin. of mouse 
Muckky much, big, great 
Musky dimin. of muse 
Muslin kaily both composed 
simply of water, shelled 
barley and greens 
Mutchkiny an English pint 
Mt/sely myself 

N 

Nay no, not, nor 
Nae^ no, not, any 
Naethlng or naithingy no- 
thing 
Naigy a horse 
Nancy none 
Neebovy a neighbour 
Needfu*y needful 
Negleckity neglected 
Neuk, nook 
Neisty next 
Nievey the fist, 



497 



Nievefu^ handful 

Niger, a negro 

Nifer, an exchange ; to ex- 
change, to barter 

Nine-tailed cat^ a hangman's 
whip 

Nit, nut 

Norland, of or belonging to 
the North 

Nor IV est. North-west 

NoticU, noticed 

Nowte, black cattle 

.O 

0\ of 

Ohservin, observing 

Ochels, name of mountains 

haith, O faith ! an oath 

Ony or onie, any 

Or, is often used for ere, be- 
fore 

OV, of it 

Ourie, shivering, drooping 

Oursel or onrsels, ourselves 

Outler, not housed 

O^ure, over, too 

Owre-hifi, a way of fetching 
a blow with a hammer 
over the arm 



Pach, intimate, familiar ; 

twelve stones of wool 
Painch^ paunch 
Paiirick, a partridge 
Pang, to cram 
Parle, speech 
Parr itch, oatmeal pudding, 

a well-known Scotch dish 
Pat^ did put J a pot 

Tt 



Pattle or pettier a plough* 
staff 

Paukie-, cunning, sly 

Paughty, proud, haughty 

Pat/t, paid, beat 

Pech, to fetch the breath 
short, as in an asthma 

Pechan, the crop, the sto- 
mach 

Peelin, peeling 

Pensivelie, pensively 

Pettle, to cherish ; a plough- 
staff 

Pet, 2i domesticated sheep> 
&c. 

Philibegs, short petticoats 
worn by Highlandmen 

Phraise, fair speeches, flat- 
tery ; to flatter 

Ph raisin , fl atter y 

Pickle, a, small quantity 

Pine, pain, uneasiness 

Pit, to put 

Placad, a public proclama- 
tion 

Plack, an old Scotch coin 

Plachlessy pennyless 

Plaiie, dimin. of plate 

Ple'O} or pie ugh, a plow 

Pliskie, a trick 

Plum [lit, did plump 

Poortith, poverty 

Pou, to pull 

Pouh, to pluck 

Poussie^ a hare or cat 

Pou't, did pull 

Pout, a poult, a chicken 

Poutherij, like powder 

Pozv, the head, the skull 

Pczvnief a little horse 

3 



4&8 



Powther or pouther, powder 
Prayin, praying 
Preeuy a pin 
Prent^ printing 
Pndefu\ proud, saucy 
Prie^ to taste 
Prie^dy tasted 
Prief, proof 

Prig, to cheapen, to dispute 
PriggeUi cheapening 
Prmsie) demure, precise 
Propone^ to lay down, to 

propose 
Pro'veses, provostB 
Prijlriy P^y^J^g 
Puddln, pudding 
Pundy pound, pounds 
PyZ?, a fiijle o' caff^ a single 

grain of chaff 

Q 

Quaky to quake 
Quaklriy quaking 
Qliaty to quit 

Quei/y a cow from one year 
to two years old 

R 

Ragweedy the plant ragwort 

Raihky to rattle nonsense 

Rair^ to roar; ratr^t^ roar- 
ed ; rat ring y roaring 

Raizey to madden, to in- 
flame 

Ramb/ih, rambling 

Ramfee%ledy fatiguedj over- 
spread 

Ram-stam, forward, thought- 
less 

Rantiuf ranting 



Rarelijy excellent, very well 
Rashy a rush ; rash bussy a 

bush of rashes 
RattUiiy rattling 
Rattouy a rat 

Rauchky rash, stout, fearles? 
Raughty reached 
RaiVy a row 
Raxy to stretch 
ReatTty cream 
Receiviuy receiving 
Reeky to heed 
Redey counsel,, tp counsel 
Red'Wud, stark- mad 
Reey half-drunk, fuddled 
Reeky smoke ; to smoke ; 

reekiuy smoking; reeiitf 

smoked, smoky 
Reestity stood restive, stunt- 
ed, withered 
Refus^ty refused 
Remarkiuy remarking 
Remeady remedy 
Requkey requitted 
Resty to stand restive 
Restrlckedy restricted 
PJiym'in rhyming 
Rewy repent 
RtdiUy riding 

Rief randies y sturdy beggars 
Rigy a ridge 
Rifiy to run, to melt; m- 

nifty running 
iS/^yf , the course of the stones,- 

a term in curling 
Rippy a handful of unthresh* 

ed corn, &c. 
Riskit, made a nose like the- 

tearing of roots 
^ Rives f tears, breaks 



4*99 



RoamtTiy roaming 

Rood stands likewise for the 
plural roods 

RooTii 2l shred 

Rooje, to praise, to com- 
mend 

Roun\ round, in the circle 
of neighbourhood 

Roufiety hoarse as with a cold 

Routhy plenty 

Routh 0^ gear, plenty of 
goods 

Rout hie, plentiful 

Roiv, to roll, to wrap 

Ro'w't, rolled, wrapped 

Rowfe, to low, to bellow 

Rozutin, lowing 

Rozet, rosin 

Ru7ig, a cudgel 

RunkPd, wrinkled 

Runt, the stem of colewort 
or cabbage 

Rustling rustling 

S 

Sae, so 

Saft, soft 

Sair, to serve, a sore 

Sairit/ or sair lie, sorely 

SairU, served 

Sang, a song 

Sarjl:, a shirt 

Sarkit, provided in shirts 

Saugh, the willow 

Saul, soul 

Saumont, salmon 

Saunf, a saint 

Saut, salt ; sauted^ salted 

Saiv, to sow 

Sawin^ sowing 



Said, sIk 

Scait/ii to damage, to injurej^ 

injury 
Scar, to scare 
Scaud, to scald 
Scauld, to scold ; scaulding^ 

scolding 
Scaur, .apt to be scared 
Scanjol, a scold 
6'6/;.7^, a kind of bread 
Scojiner, a lothing ; to lothe 
Scornful scoiTiful 
Scratch, io scream as a hen, 

partridge, 6cc. 
Scraichin, screaming 
Screechin, screeching 
Screed, to tear ; a rent 
Scricve, to glide swiftlyalong. 
Scrievin, gleesomely, swiftly 
Scrimp, to scant ; scrimpety 

did scant, scanty 
AS'f^V, did see 
Seizin, seizmg 
Se/, self; a bodiJ*s sel, one's 

self alone 
SeWt, did sell 

Sen\ to send ; j-f/z'/, send it 
Serva?i\ servant 
Sets, sets off, goes away 
Sett /in, settling ; ^^ ^^'/ <2 sef'^ 

tlin, to be frighted into 

quietness 
Shaird, a shred, a shard 
Shangan^ a stick clift at one 

end for puinng the tail of 

a dog, Sec into, by way 

of mischiefj or to frighten 

him away 
Shaver^ a humourous wag, a 

barber 



500 



Shaii}^ to show; a small 
wood in a hollow place 

Sheen, bright, shining 

Sheep shanky " to think one's 
self nae sheep shank," to 
be conceited 

Sherra-moory Sheriff- moor, 
the famous battle fought in 
theRebellion,A.D.l7l5. 

Sheughy a ditch, a trench 

Shlely a shed 

Shill, shrill 

Shogy a shock 

ShooU a shovel 

ShooHi shoes . 

Shootiriy shooting 

Shore i to offer, to threaten 

Shored, offered 

Shoiither, shoulder 

Sky such 

Sicker y sure, steady 

Sidelinsy sidelong, slanting 

Sillery silver, money 

Simmer^ summer 

Slriy a son 

Sin*y since 

Sinfu\ sinful 

Sinkin* sinking 

Sitting sitting 

Skaithy to damage, to injure, 
injury 

Skelpy to strike, to slap, to 
walk with a smart trip- 
ping step ; a smart stroke 

Skelptriy stappin, walking 
smartly 

Skelfii'Ummery a technical 
term in female scolding 

Skieghy proud, nice, high- 
mettled 



Skirklitty a small portion 

Skirklingy shrieking, crying 

Skirly to shriek, to cry shrilly 

Skirling y shrieked 

SkirPty shrieked 

Sklenty slant ; to run aslant, 
to deviate from truth 

Sklentedy ran or hit in an ob- 
lique direction 

Shlentiny slanting 

Skretghy a scream; to scream 

Sladey did slide 

Slaey sloe 

Slapy a gate, a breach in a 
fence 

Slawy slow 

Sleey sly ; sleesty slyest 

S lee kit 3 sleek 

Slidderyy slippery 

Slypey to fail over, as a wet 
furrow from the plough 

Slyfiety{d\ 

Sma\ small 

Smeddumy dust, powder \ 
mettle, sense 

Smiddijy smithy 

Smoory to smother ; smoor'*df 
smothered 

Smouticy smutty, obscene, 
ugly 

Smytriey a numerous collec- 
tion of small individuals 

Snapper y stumble 

Snash, abuse, Billinsgate 

Snawy snow 5 to snow 

Snaw'brooy melted snow 

Snawiey snowie 

Snecky latch of a door 

Snedy to lop, to cut off 

Sneeshiny snuff; ineeshiri'iniU^ 
snuff-box 



501 



Snell, bitter, biting 

Snicky drawing, tilck-con- 
triving 

Snich^ the latchet of a door 

Snooly one whose spirit is 
broken with oppressive 
slavery ; to submit tamely, 
to sneak 

Snoove, to go smoothly and 
constantly, to sneak 

Snoov^'f, went smoothly 

Snowky to scent or snufF, as 
a dog, horse, &c. 

Snowiit, scented, snuffed 

Sobhmy sobbing 

Sonsky having sweet, engag- 
ing looks ; lucky, jolly 

Sgothj to swim 
' Soothy truth, a petty oath 

Soughy a sigh, a sound dying 
on the ear 

Sou file y flexible, swift 

Soiiiery a shoemaker 

Sozvpy a spoonful], a small 
quantity of any thing li- 
quid 

Soivthy to try over a tune, 
with a low whistle 

Sowthery solder ; to solder, 
to cement 

Sfiaey to prophesy, to divine 

Spa'irgey to dash, to soil as 

with mire 
Spaky did speak 
SfiariTiy sparing 
Sfiatesy swollen streams 
Sfiauly a limb 
Spaviety having the spavin 
ipeakiriy speaking 



Speaty a sweeping torrent, 

after rain or thaw 
Speely climb 

Spencey the country parlour 
Spiei'y to ask, to inquire 
SpierU^ inquired 
Sphefu'y spiteful 
Splatter y a splutter; to sputter 
Spleuchauy a tobacco pouch 
Splorey a frolic, a riot, a 

noise 
Sportiriy sporting 
Spratiky to scramble A 
SpreckPdy spotted, speckled 
Springy 2L quick air in music, 

a Scottish reel 
Sfiringiny springing 
Sprit y a tough -rooted plant 

something like rushes 
Spritiiey full of spirits 
Spunky fire, mettle, wit 
Spunkidy mettlesome, fiery \ 
will. o'- wisp, or ignis fa- 
tuus 
Squady a crew, a party 
Squatter^ to flutter in water, 

as a wild duck, &c. 
Squattle, to sprawl 
Squcel, a scream, a screech;. 

to scream 
Siaehery to stagger 
Stacky a rick of corn, hay, 

&c. 
Siaggky dimin. of stag 
Stat warty strong, stout 
Stamptny stamping 
Stan'y to stand ; starCt^ did 

stand 
Standi a stone 



502 



Stankf a pool of standing 

water 
Stapy stop 
Stark J stout 
Startiuy starting 
Startle^ to run as cattle stung 

by the gadfly 
Starving starving 
Staumrely halfwitted 
Staw^ did steal ; to surfeit 
Steck^ to cram the belly 
Stechin^ craming 
Steeky^io shut; a stitch 
Steer^ to molest, to stir 
Steevcy firm, compacted 
Stell, a still 

Steriy to rear as a horse 
Sfen^ty reared 
Stents, tribute-dues of any 

kind 
Stet/9 steep ; steysst^ steepest 
StiblUt stubble ; stlbbk-rig, 

the reaper, in harvest, who 

takes the lead 
Stick an^ sto<Wy totally, al- 
together 
St'tlty a crutch ; to hault, to 

limp 
Stimfiart, the eighth part of 

a Winchester bushel 
Stiriy a cow or bullock a 

year old 
Stocky a plant of colev/ort, 

cabbage, &c. 
Stocking stocking 
Stoor, sounding, hollow, 

strong and hoarse 
Stot^ an ox 
Stoufi or sto'U}py a kind of 

jug or dish with a handle 



Stoure^ dust, more particu- 
larly dust ib motion 

StowUnsy by stealth 

Stowriy stolen 

Stot/te^ stumble 

Streaky did strike 

Stracy straw ; < to die a fair- 
strae death,' to die in bed 

Strdiky to stroke ; straiiit, 
stroked 

Strapfiariy tall and handsome 

Straughty straight 

Streeky stretched, to stretch ; 
St reek It y stretched 

Streivitiy strewing 

Striddky to straddle 

Stringiriy stringing 

Strmn^ to spout, to piss 

StroanUy spouted, pissed 

Strunty spirituous liquor of 
any kind ; to walk sturdily 

Studdicy an anvil 

Stuffy corn, or pulse of any 
kind 

StumpiCy dimin. of stump 

Sturty trouble ; to molest 

Sturtitiy frighted 

Suckery sugar 

Sudy should 

Sughy the continued rushing 
noise of wind or water 

Southorriy southren, an old 
name for the English na- 
tion 

Sivairdy sward 

S'waWdy swelled 

Siuanky stately, jolly 

Sivankie or snvankery a tight 
strapping young fellow or 
girl 



503 



Snvapi an exchange; to bar- 
ter 
Swarfy swoon 
Swaty did sweat 
SwatSy liquor 
Swatchy a sample 
Sweatiriy sweating 
Siveery lazy, averse ; dead- 

sweety extremely averse 
Sivernnriy sv/erving 
Swinge, to beat, to whip 
Swingeiriy beaten, whipping 
Swtrl, a curve, an eddying 

blast or pool, a knot in 

wood 
Swirliey'- knaggy, full of 

knots 
Siutth ! get away 
Swiiheryto hesitate in choice, 

an irresolute wavering in 

choice 
Swooty swore, did swear 
Sj^ney since ago, then 

T 

Taey a toe ; fhree-iae^d, hav- 
ing three prongs 

Tairgey target 

Tak, to take ; takiriy taking 

Tamtallany the name of a 
mountain 

Tangky a sea weed 

Tafiy the top 

Tafietlessy headless, foolish 

Tarrowy to murmur at one's 
allowance 

Tarrow^ty murmured 

Tarry-hreehsy a sailor 

Tauld or tald^ told 



Taujihy a foolish, thoughtless 

young person 
Tauted or taut'iey matted to- 
gether, spoken of hair or 
wool 
Tawiey that allows itself 
peaceably to be handled, 
spoken of a horse, cow, 
&c. 
Tearfu\ tearful 
Teaty a small quantity 
Teddingy spreading after the 
mower 

Ten hours hitey a slight feed 
to the hojses while in the 
yoke in the forenoon 

Tenty a held pulpit ; heed, 
caution ; to take heed 

Tentiey heedful, cautious 

Tenths Sy heedless 

Teughy tough ; teughltjy 
tough ly 

Thacky thatch ; thack ar^ 
rape, clothing, necessaries 

Thaey these 

Thairmsy small guts, fiddle- 
strings 

Thankfu^y thankful 

Thank it y thanked 

T'leektty thatched 

Thegithery together 

Themsely themselves 

Thlcky intimate, familiar 

Thievelessy cold, dry, spited, 
spoken of a person's de- 
meanour 

Thinklny thinking 

Thiry these 

Thirh to thrill 



504^ 



TJurVd^ thrilled, vibrated 

ThoUy to suffer, to endure 

Thoive^ a thaw, to thaw 

Thowless^ slack, lazy 

Thrang^ throng, a crowd 

Thraw, to sprain, to twist, 
to contradict 

Thrawn^ sprained, twisted, 
contradicted 

Thra^whii twisting, &c. 

Threap, to maintain by dint 
of assertion 

Threshings thrashing 

Threteeriy thirteen 

Thrhthi thistle 

Through^ to go on with, to 
make out 

Throutker^ pell-mell, con- 
. fusedly 

Thud^ to make a loud, inter- 
mittent noise 

Thumjiin^ thumping 

Thumfiit, thumped 

ThyseU thyself 

TiWt, to it 

Timmer^ timber ; timber' 
propt^ propped with tim- 
ber 

Tine^ to lose ; tint^ lost 

Tint the gatCi lost the way 

Tinkler 9 a tinker ^ 

11 (h a ram 

Tippence^ two pence 

Tirly to make a slight noise, 
to uncover 

TtrUny uncovering 

Ttther^ the other 

Tittle^ to whisper 

Tittliuy v/hispering 



Tocher J marriage- portion 

Tody a fox 

Toddle^ to totter like the 
walk of a child 

Toddliriy tottering 

Toom, empty 

Toopy a ram 

TouTiy 2l hamlet, a farm- 
house 

Tout^ the blast of a horn or 
trumpet ; to blow a horn, 
&c. 

Tow^ a rope 

Tcwmondy a twelvemonth 

Towzte^ rough, shaggy 

Toy J a very old fashion of 
female head dress 

ToytSy to totter like old age 

Transmogrify^ dy transmigra- 
ted, metamorphosed 

Trashtricy trash 

Tretvsy trowsers 

Trichiey full of tricks 

Trlgy sprouce, neat 

Trimly^ excellently 

Trottiriy trotting 

Trowy to believe 

Trowthy truth, a petty oath 

Tryiriy trying 

Trusted, appointed; to trystCj 
to make an appointment 

TryUy tried 

Tllg^ raw hrde, of which, in 
old times, plough traces 
were frequently made 

Tulziey a quarrel, to quar- 
rel, to fight 

Tunefn\ tuneful 

Twa^ two 



ms 



Tiva^tliree^ a few 
^Twady it would 
^Twal^ twelve; tivalpennle' 

ivorth^ a small quantity, a 

penny-worth 
7Wm, to part 
Ti/he^ a dog 

IT 

UncOy strange, uncouth, very, 
very great, prodigious 

Uncosy news 

Uncaringy disregarding 

Undoiuy undoing 

Unkenn^dy unknown 

UnskcutKdy undamaged, un- 
hurt 

Unsickety unsure, unsteady 

Unweetingy unwotting, un- 
knowing 

Urchiriy a hedge-hog 

Upo*y upon 

V 

Vaf^riUy vapouring 
Veruy very 

V'trly a ring round a column, 
&c. 

W 

Wa\ wall; nvd'sy walls 

Wahtevy z weaver 

IVady would ; to bet ; a bet, 

a pledge 
Wadnay would not 
Waefuly woeful 
Waesuclis I or nuaes me I 

alas I O the pity 
Wafty the woof 



Waifu^y waiKng 

Wair^ to lay out, to expend 

WaPdy chose, chosen 

Waky choice ; to choose 

Waliey ample, large, jolly ; 
also an interjection of dis- 
tress 

Wamey the belly ; nvamefou^ 
a bellyful 

Wanchancie^ unluckie 

Wanrestfu^y restless 

Warhy work 

Wark'lumey a tool to work 
with 

IVarl or warldy world 

Warlocky a wizzard 

Worlyy worldly, eager on 
amassing wealth 

Warrauy a warrant ; to war- 
rant 

Warsfy worst 

WarstVdor warsPd^ wrestled 

Wastrtey prodigality 

JVaty wet ; / ivaty I wot, I 
know 

Water-brosey brose made of 
meal and water simply, 
without the additions of 
milk, butter, &c. 

Wattky a twig, a wand 

Wauhky to swing, to reel 

Waughty draught 

Waheriy to awake 

Wauhity thickened, as ful- 
lers do cloth 

Wauvy worse ; to worst 

Warty worsted 

Wsariy or weanie^ a child 



U 



^06 



Weary or <voearie; * monie a 
weary body,^ many a dif- 
ferent person 

Weason, weasand 

Weey little ; ^^^ee things^ lit- 
tle ones ; wee bitj a small 
matter 

JVeely well ; nueelfare^ well- 
fare 

Weety rain, wetness 

Weirdy fate 

/Ffjf, we shall 

/^y^<3i, who 

Whai'zely to wheeze 

Whalfilty whelped 

Whangy 2l leathern string, a 
piece of cheese, bread, &c. 
to give the strappado 

WharCf where ; whare^er, 
wherever 

Whase-i whose 

Whatrechy nevertheless 

Wheejiy to fly nimbly, to 
jerk ; penjiy-wheepy small 
beer 

Whldy the motion of the hare 
running but not frighted ; 
a lie 

WkidJm, running as a hare 
or coney 

Whtrlygtgiimsy useless orria- 
mentSy trifling appendages 

Whlgmekerlesy whims, fan- 
cies, crotchets 

Whisht! silence ! to hold one* s 
nvhlsht^ to be silent 

Whisky ta sweep, to lash 

Whiskity lashed 

Whisski a whistle, to whistle 



Whittery a hearty draught 
of liquor 

Whuri'Staney a wbinstone 

Whylesy whiles, sometimes 

Wi\ with 

Wicky to strike a stone in 
an oblique direction, a term 
in curling 

Wider y willow, (the smaller 
sort) 

Wtely a small whirlpool 

W'lfiey a diminitive or endear- 
ing term for wife 

Wimfdey to meander 

Wimprty meandered 

WimpUny waving, meander- 
ing 

Winy to wind, to winnow 

/Fm% wind ; ivin^s, winds 

Winkiriy winking 

Winnay will not 

Winnocky a window 

Winsomey gay, hearty, vaunt- 
ed 

Win*ty winded, as a bottoni 
of yarn 

Wintley a staggering motion ; 
to stagger, to reel 

Wmzey an oath 

Wissy to wish 

Withouieriy without 

Wi%en^dy hide-bound, dryed, 
shrunk 

Wonderfu\ wonderful, won- 
derfully 

Wonnery a wonder, a con- 
temptuous appellation 
Wonsy dwells 
Wqq% wool 



507 



IVooer^laly the garter knot- 
ted below the knees with 
a couple of loops 

JVordi/y worthy 

Worsety worsted 

Wow 9 an exclamation of 
pleasure or wonder 

Wracky to tease, to vex 

IVraithi a, spirit, a ghost ; an 
apparition exactly like a 
living person, whose ap- 
pearance is said to forbode 
the person's approaching 
death. 

Wrangi wrong ; to wrong 

Wreethy a drifted heap of 
snow 

IVud-mad, distracted 

Wumbky a wimble 

Wyky beguile 

Wyltecoaty a flannel vest 

JVi/tey blame ; to blame 



Tcy this pronoun is frequent- 
ly used for thou 



Tealingsy born in the same 

year, coevals 
Teary is used for both sing. 

and plur. years 
Tearnsy small eagles 
Telly barren, that gives no 

milk 
Terky to lash, to jerk 
Terkity jerked, lashed 
Testreeuy yesternight 
Tetty a gate, such as is usually 

at the entrance into a farm 

yard or field 
Ttlly ale 
Tirdy earth 
TohiHy yoking, about 
Tonty beyond 
ToursePy yourself 
Touthfu^y youthful 
Towey a ewe 
Towky dimin. of yowe 
Tuki Christmas 




From ih$ Ptess &f 

M. ANGUS AND SON 



.} 



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